


The World In Colour

by allineedisaquill



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Pat (Ghosts TV 2019), Canon Gay Character, Christmas, Coming Out, Everyone Is Alive, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Years, Parenthood, Post-Divorce, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, The Captain is Gay (Ghosts TV 2019), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allineedisaquill/pseuds/allineedisaquill
Summary: Pat, recently divorced after discovering Carol’s affair with Morris, is about to become a single father. The last Scout camp of Summer has him crossing paths with Captain Ackerman who is unwittingly thrown in at the deep end of Pat’s life as the pair deal with pain, forgiveness, and new beginnings.





	1. Change Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of time in the English and Scottish remote countryside whilst planning this fic. I’m also from Yorkshire, so there’s a lot of my heart poured into this. I hope you enjoy it.

“You’re sure everything is okay? You, the baby? I can come home, just say the word.”

There was a groan down the line._ “False alarm, as I said. We’re alright,”_ Carol said, her voice tired. _“Just phantom contractions, but I wanted to let you know. Morris drove us to the hospital. Everything’s under control.”_

Pat quietened; Morris still hung between them, however much they tried to pretend it didn’t. He couldn’t help but feel excluded, detached from the experience he always imagined he’d share with his wife. Then there he was at camp while his best friend drove his ex to the hospital to check on Pat’s baby. He tried not to let it drive a wedge, tried to swallow the hurt down so he could make it work for his own sake as well as for theirs. Morris was going to be a permanent fixture in his life and in his baby’s and even if he was pained by the way their relationship had begun, he had to be amicable. He had to be strong.

His heart still ached, but Pat knew deep down he’d get there. He just wasn’t quite there yet. A small mercy was that their divorce had gone through months ago. Any other way and Pat was sure he wouldn’t cope with it well. That way, he could process things one at a time, begin to heal from the separation and prepare for the next big thing in his life: parenthood.

_“Pat?”_ Carol prompted, concerned and louder, like she had moved her mouth closer.

“Sorry for worrying, but you know me. Can’t help it. I’m glad you’re both okay,” he said gently. “Just remember I’m only a town away. I can be there in twenty minutes if you need me, so please ring me if there’s anything the matter. Or-” he swallowed, “-have Morris ring me. Okay?” There was no bitterness to Morris’ name where there once had been, when he’d first found out about the affair eight and a half months ago. He’d gotten past that stage. It still stung to say, though. If the thought about it long enough, it hurt.

There was a smile to Carol’s voice when she responded. _“I will. Enjoy your camp and try not to worry. I’ll let you know if anything happens, I promise.”_

With a brief goodbye, he let Carol hang up first, and then sagged in his small camping chair and hung his head. He breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t in fact managed to miss the beginning of Carol’s labour during the last camp of the summer, and he could get through the rest of the day’s activities before he drove his Scouts home with no trouble.

A moment later, a little bespectacled boy came running into his tent, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. “Skipper!” He said with a salute. “There’s a man in a uniform here to see you. I think he’s the Captain.”

Pat smiled and slipped his phone into the breast pocket of his shirt. It seemed the quiet morning period during breakfast was over and it was time to face another day.

“Thank you, Alexander. I’ll be out now.”

The sky was blue over the grounds and a welcome breeze shifted through the humid air, cutting the still heat. Pat breathed in deep lungful of the fresh country air as he crossed the field to his Scouts.

They had gathered around their guest by their meeting point. As he approached, he could hear the tirade of unforgiving questions that they launched at the poor man, who seemed to be doing his best to handle the onslaught. His eyebrows were raised, his back ramrod straight, and he smiled tightly at one particular question Pat didn’t manage to catch, comically apprehensive toward his group.

The Captain, tall and trim with a pristine uniform and neatly groomed moustache, spotted him as he approached. His arrival an obvious saving grace, he quickly weaved his way from the ambush to greet him. The buttons on his jacket glinted in the sun.

“Ah, you must be Patrick,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly warmer than Pat had been expecting of a decorated officer. He extended a hand and Pat shook it kindly. “I’m Captain Ackerman.” The pleasantries ended there; straight to business.

“I see you’ve already met my troop,” Pat said with a nervous laugh as he shoved his glasses up his face. He gave the Captain a sheepish look when the kids were already running riot again; they were easily bored unless they were doing something every single second. Pat thought the world of them, he did, but it took a lot of work to do his job and a lot of willpower and determination (as well as coffee in the mornings). If anything, it was definitely good practise for what being a father would be like in the years to follow.

The Captain hummed as he observed them through squinted eyes. “Yes, indeed. Rowdy lot, prone to mischief from what I’ve already seen, but we’ll soon have them occupied.” He lowered himself close to Pat, who caught a brief wave of a spicy cologne, and said, “What this lot need is a good challenge, something to test their willpower and strength. Get their hands and knees dirty, wear them out. Let them work as a team and spend some of that energy, hm? I trust you’ve arranged the assault course as planned.”

Pat nodded and shifted his weight on the spot, folding his arms across his chest. “I have, yeah. My assistant leader Mary helped me put it all together before camp started. We were concerned it might be a bit too much for them-”

Breezy and unconcerned, the Captain waved a hand. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry. Children are strong! They’re resilient. A great deal we adults can learn from them, actually. I’m sure they’ll get stuck in and have a jolly good time.”

“Hmm. I suppose so,” Pat said, not entirely convinced but inclined to trust him anyway. He was also definitely distracted by how old-fashioned the man sounded in places, like he had been plucked straight from the '40s. The moustache he could look past as they were quite “in” for the time and far be it for him to judge when he sported one himself, but regardless he could quite easily mistake the modern soldier for someone completely out of his time. He hadn’t heard a person say “jolly good” outside of his telly box unless they were joking, but the Captain didn’t seem like the joking type from their brief interaction. Oddly enough, the corner of Pat’s mouth twitched a bit with a smile.

“It was all approved for safety anyway, so I suppose you’re right,” Pat said.

“Good man!” The Captain chimed as Pat earned himself a clap to the shoulder.

Pat turned to his Scouts, then. “Attention, patrol!”

After a bit of scuffling and chatter, they arranged themselves in a perfect line.

“Skipper!” They shouted back in unison. Pat deliberately ignored the few who shoved at each other and giggled. He was suddenly very glad to have backup.  
  
“This is Captain Ackerman. You can call him Captain or sir, okay? Now, the Captain has very kindly offered his time today to send you all out on an assault course! Now, I’ll hand you over.” With a step back, he gestured for the Captain to step up and begin his briefing.

He watched as the older man nervously adjusted his tie before nodding curtly and taking his place before them.

The Captain barely got a word in before the group began to pipe up with more questions. His face clouded with apprehension once again and he helplessly glanced back at Pat for assistance. He was clearly out of his depth.

“What are your medals for, sir?”

“Have you ever shot anyone?”

"What’s it like being in the Army?”

“Is your moustache real? It looks funny.”

Pat intervened at the last one, making a sweeping motion toward them. “Ah, I think that’s enough questions. Make your way over to the course now, that’s it.”

They let out disappointed noises but did as they were told and Pat had the good grace to look apologetic on behalf of them all. He fell into step with the Captain and together they followed them across the field.

It was silent until Pat said, “Ignore Harriet, she means well. Your moustache suits you.”

When the Captain answered him with nothing but a surprised, arched eyebrow, he wished he’d said nothing at all. He didn’t even know where the comment had come from, let alone why he thought it was a good idea to say it out loud.

The day was not going how he had planned it.

He was glad when they arrived at the assault course. It was a great and impressive assortment of physical challenges that began with a wall climb, balance beams, tyre rings, and various more apparatus to scale and shimmy through, carrying on to low rope netting just above the ground that moved into. It ended in a commercial zip wire, the kind with the seat that didn’t hold you far off the ground.

His Scouts were clearly excited by the whole thing, voices raised and buzzed with questions of who could go first and if they could do it right that second. Not for the first time, Pat wondered if it was such a good idea, but he reminded himself of the Captain’s reassurances and tried to believe them.

He did his best to hush them all. “We have to go through health and safety first. You’ll all be doing the course together. Now, there will be a small prize for whoever finishes it first,” he said, immediately overcome with shouts of glee, “but you’re not to cheat or throw off your fellow Scouts, or you’ll be disqualified. In the same spirit, if you see someone stuck or struggling, help them out. If anyone is hurt, you must shout me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Skipper!” The group saluted.

Captain Ackerman cleared his throat from beside him. “Once you’re all in line, I’ll go to the count of three and Patrick here will blow his whistle, then you’ll begin,” he said.

When a hand raised from the cluster of Scouts before them, accompanied by giggling and snickering, Pat knew nothing good was about to happen. He braced himself for whatever they were about to throw at himself and the Captain next.

“Yes?” The Captain prompted them, a little impatient.

“Sir,” Charley - the Scout in question - said. “We were wondering if Skipper could go first to show us how the course works.” She grinned toothily, eyes full of youthful mischief, and the kids that surrounded her piped up enthusiastically, chants of, “Yes!” and “Go on, Skip!” that made seemed to make Pat’s neckerchief feel tighter.

He knew his fate was sealed when the Captain, who he had judged to be rather serious and surly and absolutely not the joking type, turned his head towards him with a barely concealed smirk.

“Well, _Skipper_,” he said, “it appears you’ve been volunteered.”

Pat stared between him and the course in mild horror.

“Oh no, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pat said with a tug of his scarf and a shake of his head, but his group insisted and then the Captain’s hand was at the small of his back, large and warm, ushering him a few steps forwards.

“Nonsense, man!” He said with a small clap to his shoulder for good measure. “I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colours.”

Pat attempted a silent plea with his eyes, begging for a moment for the Captain to get him out of it and save him like Pat had saved him from the group’s endless hounding, but the older man simply placed his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels. He looked far more pleased than he had any right to be and that damned smirk was going nowhere.

Hands clenched by his sides, he stared at the assault course before him. _It was a child-friendly course_, he reasoned. _How difficult could it be?_ With a decisive nod and a brave swallow, he glanced back at his expectant patrol and equally expectant Captain and forced a smile.

“Here I go, then!” He said. It was quickly followed by a groan under his breath when he faced the looming apparatus again, sweat gathering beneath his collar.

The kids hollered and cheered when he began, though he suspected it wasn't all in support but rather in jest at his feeble attempts to navigate through the course as a forty year old man. What was literally child’s play to his Scouts was a very serious threat of ending up in an accident and emergency room for him, but it was too late to stop once he had started.

The whole affair came to a rather anticlimactic and pitiful head when he attempted the army crawl in the dirt beneath a heavy mess of rope and added foliage. He felt his dignity escape him as he crawled and shuffled on his belly and knees, red-faced at the ongoing eruption of noise beyond. He swore he also heard a deeper rumble that could have only been the Captain's laughter and made a mental note to be suitably cross with him afterwards.

“Do you think I can stop now?” His shout verged on desperate.

“Keep going, Skipper!” Charley shouted, though it did little to spur him onward.

He only realised he was stuck when it was too late. He cursed himself for ever agreeing to the charade because somehow, amongst the mud and leaves and thick expanse of knotted, layered rope both above and beneath his body, he had managed to tangle his left foot and upper thigh behind him. He tried to tug himself free, to continue forwards, but his leg was completely caught up and he ended up slumped to the floor with a winded huff.

“Um, I think we have a bit of a problem,” he called out, waving down the others. He could barely hear himself over the laughter of his group and he squinted through smudged glasses and hauled his head up, waving further. “Guys, if you please!” He shouted a bit louder. “I'm stuck! Can someone help me? Give us a hand.”

Almost every Scout was quite literally on the floor laughing whilst holding their stomachs. He watched them with an exasperated feeling and waited for the ground to inevitably swallow him whole. He had braved the course to prove himself (which he knew was daft, deep down) and ended up bruising his pride further as a result.

“Patrol!” He heard his assistant Mary shout, and he thanked his lucky stars she had arrived at the right time. “That's quite enough of that. Return to your tents. I expect everything to by ship-shape and in its place. Then you can get started on your evening duties. Chop chop, let's go.” He heard their collective groans as they realised the gig was up, and then footsteps disappeared back to their camp with Mary in tow.

Satisfied he no longer had an audience, he rolled somewhat onto his back and tried once more to pry himself from the damned snare of the rope. It would help things if he could actually see what he was doing, but that particular issue's importance fizzled out entirely when the glare of the sun disappeared from his glasses and the face of a slightly amused Captain appeared above his own.

Pat looked up at him dumbly. He had assumed the man had left, too, and rather hoped so. He had already suffered being humiliated in front of him, after all.

“Hold still,” the Captain said simply, his voice a low rumble from his chest.

“Not going anywhere,” Pat replied, and followed him with his eyes as he moved to crouch at his feet.

He watched as the Captain pulled out a shiny blue Swiss-Army knife, flicked up the small blade from its compartment, and made small work of his situation. A large, steady hand briefly encircled his ankle, the older man bracing himself as he cut Pat's restraints away from his leg and foot. He swallowed, torn between mortification and gratitude and a little bit of something else, something caused by this man being so close all of a sudden. He had no time to dwell on that, however, not in his predicament.

“There we are,” the Captain said once Pat was free, taking the opportunity to stand again and ease out the cricks from his neck and back.

At the same time, Pat quickly scrambled to his feet and stepped over the rope netting on the ground. He brushed bits of loose dirt from his uniform but it was already too late; mud caked and clung to his shorts and shirt, to his striped necker, and was streaked messily over his knees, cheeks and chin. The crossness he promised to the Captain was fast making a resurgence as he took in the state of himself.

“Thank you for finally stepping in, it's much appreciated,” he said sarcastically, pulling bits of twig and leaf from his hair with a sour expression. Where Pat had initially warmed to him, he was beginning to feel frosty indifference - or perhaps it was just his last lame attempt at defending his dignity.

The Captain, meanwhile, made no effort to hide his mirth. His blue eyes glinted and his moustache twitched when he smiled. “You're welcome,” he said, shoving the blue knife into his trouser pocket.

Pat huffed and began his retreat. So much for the man being one of honour, of principle, capable of behaving responsibly. “Yes, well, it's been _lovely_ having you. Thank you for your time and your _brilliant_ assault course, but if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my patrol.” His stomach twisted at how rude his exit was and he fought the urge to turn around and profusely apologise, but Pat had had enough of being the subject of such mockery. Pushover Pat, always-kind Pat, wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-goose Pat. He shoved his glasses resolutely up his nose and blinked back a few angry, frustrated tears. He was embarrassed and fed up and just wanted to return to his tent and lick his wounds before he faced everyone again.

To his annoyance, the Captain could not only match his pace but overtake it and the taller man rounded to face him and cut his sure strides short. Defensively, Pat crossed his arms over his chest, his left leg bouncing impatiently.

“Please, wait a moment,” he said, with the added good grace of wiping the amusement from his face. “That wasn't very sporting of me and I apologise. That all went rather a bit too far, didn't it?”

“Yes,” Pat grumbled. “Yes, it did.” He sighed, then. He knew, deep down, his reaction wasn't solely the fault of his Scouts or Captain Ackerman. His frustration had been building for a while, it had just needed a catalyst. He let his folded arms fall limply back to his sides. “I should have known better than to give in to them. It's not your fault, I suppose.” So much for his fiery exit, but he felt better for letting himself cool it.

The Captain arched a brow at him. “Happens a lot, does it?”

“Sometimes,” he said stiffly, blinking and jutting his chin up in the air. He felt the need to rush to their defence despite everything.“But they're good kids - they just get a bit carried away sometimes, as can be expected with children. Grown men, on the other hand, should probably step in when that happens,” he said, deliberate and slow.

He was met with hands raised in surrender. “You're right,” he said. “Point taken. It was a lapse in judgement. Terribly unprofessional.” As he spoke, however, that smirk began to reappear, like he was unable to help himself.

Pat, in spite of himself, huffed a great sigh before he released a giggle. Before he knew it, his shoulders were shaking with laughter and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tried to gain composure again. He shook his head at himself.

“Don't suppose it was professional of me to shout at you, either,” he said, removing another bit of debris from his hair with a grimace. He didn't miss the way the Captain laughed at his expression, rocking back on his heels, but something about his laughter made the frost thaw again instead of increasing it. He didn't analyse it too closely, instead saying, “I overreacted. It wasn't that serious.”

To his credit, the Captain waved away his apology. “On the contrary, I think you handled it quite well, all things considered. I assure you, I've received much worse. I offer my sincere apologies for today. Not at all how I imagined it would go.”

Pat said nothing but gave him a sceptical look; he had a feeling the Captain was just trying to let him preserve his pride. At the hint towards his life in the forces, Pat did briefly wonder what had led such a man to end up volunteering his time at a Scout camp, but he bit back any curiosity as they began the short walk back.

At the mouth of their camp site, the Captain stopped. “I should probably take my leave, unless there's something you require my help with.” He cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “Not that I've helped thus far, but you know.”

Pat glanced at the half-circle of tents surrounding a clearing with a small fire in the middle, unlit but charred from the previous night with a pot over the top. He watched Mary as she stood and talked to a few of his Scouts, his heart warming at the sight. For a moment, he reminded himself how lucky he was to have his job and his role in the children’s lives. It was rewarding even on the more difficult days.

He blinked and came back to himself. “No, I think we’ll be alright- Hold on.” His phone began to ring in his top pocket and he hurriedly took it out. The screen was lit with Morris’ name and Pat’s face fell and paled. He swallowed and looked apologetic. “Won’t be a tick,” he told the Captain.

When he answered the call, he was met with Morris’ frantic tones. _“Pat! Thank God, I was worried you wouldn’t answer. It’s Carol. She’s gone into labour.”_

Thinking of the previous false alarm, Pat scrunched his face up even as the adrenaline began to pump thickly through his veins. His heart jack-hammered. “You’re sure it’s not more phantom contractions? She’s really having the baby?” He asked quickly, voice high.

Morris spoke urgently._“Of course I'm sure,” _he snapped irritably. _“We’d only just left the hospital and had to turn the car around. Her waters broke, Pat. This is happening.” _

Panic rose in Pat’s chest. “I’m still at the camp,” he said, floundering for what to do.

_“Get here as soon as you can,”_ Morris said shortly, and Pat heard the briefest cries of pain and distress before the other man hung up the phone.

His phone nearly slipped right from his grasp in shock but he shook himself and gripped it tightly, knuckles white as he processed what was happening not twenty minutes away in a hospital he wasn’t at. His son was going to be born.

“Everything alright? That sounded serious,” the Captain said, and Pat looked at him like he’d forgotten he was there.

Pat blinked. “Carol’s gone into labour,” he said.

It explained absolutely nothing to the Captain but he was smart enough to infer what he needed. He went tight-lipped and nodded. “I see.”

Mary approached them then, a wide-eyed look of concern on her face. “Did I hear right just then?” She asked, addressing Pat. “Because if I did, what the _hell_ are you still doing here? Get yourself off to the hospital right now!” She ordered.

It was enough to spring the Captain into action. “I’m inclined to agree with Mary. Better get a shift on, then,” he said, waiting on Pat to make a move.

Pat shook his head. “I don’t even have my car! Mary needs the bus to take the kids home if I’m not going to be here. I’ll have to call a taxi, or find a bus stop-”

The Captain rolled his eyes and put his hand on Pat’s back, beginning to steer him swiftly away. “Stop dithering, man. I’ll drive you there myself, clearly. Let’s go.”

In no position to argue and still reeling from the entire situation, Pat let himself be led.

The sleepy, postcard-perfect countryside of small-town Yorkshire passed by in a blur beyond the passenger window of the Captain’s car. Rolling fields and cobblestone walls dotted with clusters of close-knit houses, all kissed by the golden morning sun. The expanse of sky seemed to go on for miles, wispy clouds drifting with no mind to the world below, to the people and their little lives and to Pat and the Captain as they drove steadily in the direction of the hospital.

Pat barely paid it any mind, lost in his head with thoughts of his child on the cusp of being brought into the world for the very first time, at the long stretch of something entirely new on the horizon. Something terrifying and amazing in equal measure, something he had wanted all his life. He felt a pang of sadness and regret that he didn’t have someone to share it with, not the way he always thought he would. _Not the way Carol did with Morris_, he thought with damp eyes.

The Captain hit a small pothole in the road, jolting Pat in his seat and pulling him back to the present. He sat upright and stared straight ahead, watching the winding road bracketed by trees and eyeing the sign that said they were only a few miles away.

In an attempt to quash his restless fretting, Pat reached out to adjust the Captain’s old, in-built car radio from _BBC Radio 4_ to _Absolute_. He turned the volume dial and filled the car with a low background noise that made the silence much easier to bear. It couldn’t ease his mind entirely, but the familiar chatter of the radio DJ interspersed with songs he knew most of the words to was something else to focus on and went a small way to easing the knot in his chest.

The Captain glanced briefly at him through his mirror. “We’ll have you there soon enough, don’t worry,” the Captain said from beside him, seeming to sense his nerves, and where the man would usually reprimand someone for fiddling with his radio, he found he had no comment he needed to bite back.

“Yeah. Not long now,” Pat said, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

There was Springsteen, The Stones, Stereophonics, and then there was the general hospital looming tall as they pulled into the car park. The Captain insisted he'd cover the parking and it was just as well as Pat had left his wallet back at the camp. He hurriedly scrambled for his phone to send a quick text to Mary to ask her to grab it for him, and he tacked on an apology for leaving her to deal with the kids before they headed inside Women’s Services.

He approached the front desk with the Captain by his side and was surprised when the older, more imposing man stepped forwards before he could.

“Hello there,” he greeted the reception nurse curtly. 

Pat watched her eyes flit down to the Captain’s uniform before she looked him up and down as well. It was then he realised he was still caked in mud and standing in the middle of a clinical white hospital. There wasn’t much he could do about it; he was already there.

The nurse’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “How can I help you?” She asked, wary but still warm enough in her thick Yorkshire accent. Her name badge read ‘Emma’.

“This here is Patrick Williams, his wife was brought in about twenty minutes ago in labour,” the Captain explained shortly. “Could you please tell us where she is?”

Startled by his blunt questioning and just a bit miffed at being talked for whilst he was _ right there_, Pat quickly stepped in and shoved the Captain to the side. The older man gawped at him but he ignored it.

“Sorry about him,” Pat said, red-faced. “I am Pat Williams, though, and my _ ex_-wife Carol Davies was brought in. I’m the father of the baby.” He gave the Captain a pointed look, cheeks still flaming, and the man had the decency to look apologetic before lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Glad to see you can speak for yourself, Mr. Williams,” she said, but she seemed less impatient and more amused by them both than anything. Pat supposed in a place like that, a sense of humour was vital. “Less glad to see the state of you, though. You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. We can hardly have you going into the delivery ward covered in muck.”

Pat shrank back a bit from the desk meekly. “Sorry. I came straight here. I run a Scout camp, hence the…” He trailed off and waved at himself. “Yeah.” 

Emma raised her eyebrows above her glasses. “Really? The uniform wasn’t a dead giveaway.” She smiled kindly though, her rosy cheeks lifting. “Not to worry, we’ll get you into some spare blues and then I’ll take you through. Will Captain bossy boots be coming too? Partners are allowed,” she said.

Pat saw how the Captain’s eyes widened like saucers. He assumed it was at the suggestion they could be together, and Pat inwardly wondered if perhaps the Captain was as old-fashioned in that regard as he was in others. He thought back to his comment about the Captain's moustache and thought, with a small, sick feeling, that perhaps he had made the other man uncomfortable. He didn't have time to question it, though, but he didn't like to think he'd made friends with someone that narrow-minded. 

With no choice but to let it go for the time being, Pat simply smiled. “He’s just a friend. It’ll just be me.” He turned to the man in question. “You’ll be okay? I really should go now, don’t want to miss my son being born.” He said it like it was a light-hearted joke but his voice was strained, betraying his need to get going.

The Captain cleared his throat and nodded once. “Yes, off you go,” he said, impatient, and Pat couldn’t help but feel like he was ready to be shut of him. He’d probably inconvenienced him enough for one day.

He frowned, then nodded to Emma.

She walked around the desk and beckoned Pat to follow her. “No more dawdling then,” she said. “Follow me.” 

Anxiety rolled in his gut as he followed nurse Emma obediently, directed with a handful of blue scrubs to a small staff loo where he could change and wash his hands and clean his face up a bit. She even gave him a small carrier bag to put his dirty clothes in which he thanked her for.

“Right then, Pat. Let’s go and see your son be born, shall we?” She smiled at him and began to lead the way through the ward.

At the next set of double doors, he gave one more cursory glance back through the thin glass panes, but the Captain was nowhere to be seen.


	2. We All Need Someone To Stay

Pat could hardly believe it when he finally held his son in his arms. He stared down at the impossibly small bundle swaddled in a blanket, eyes shut tight to the world and face dappled in red and pink, and didn’t bother to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, he’s perfect,” he whispered, holding his baby so very close. 

“He is,” Carol said back quietly, her voice slightly hoarse.

Carol was sat up in bed, Morris by her side. Her own cheeks were flushed and her hair was a frizzy mess. She brushed it aside where it clung to her forehead with sweat, smiling at Pat and her newborn. As the pain relief mixed with postpartum hormones, she looked as though she were walking on air, her expression blissful and dreamy. 

He wasn’t daft. Pat knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d need some proper rest, and little Daley - they had decided on his name months prior, and he loved it even more now he could put his face to his name - would soon demand some peace, too. So he soaked up the moment while it lasted, cradled his son in his arms and wished he never had to let go. 

The birth had gone as well as it could have. Within two hours after Carol’s waters broke she had gone into her actual labour, the contractions already well underway, and Pat was thankful there hadn’t been the need for an induction. With one hand in Morris’ and another in Pat’s, she had given birth.

“Congratulations,” one delivery nurse had said. “One of the fastest first-time births I’ve ever seen.” All in all, it had lasted just shy of 5 hours. 

Carol had held Daley close with watery eyes. “He wanted to see the world, he did. Couldn’t wait.” She’d sniffed and beckoned Pat closer, who had approached with an awestruck expression. “Oh Pat, look at him,” she whispered, as if Pat could do anything else but adore their son in that moment.

When Morris kissed Carol’s forehead and congratulated her too, Pat couldn’t help but feel a little stung. He’d always imagined himself in his place, at the beginning of their new family, but he had to let it be. It was what it was, and at the heart of everything, Daley would grow up with three parents instead of one, and that was no bad thing. He knew some children didn’t have parents at all, and so he pushed down his own hurt and focused on his baby instead.

“He’s a mini marvel, isn’t he?” Morris said. He rounded the bed and peeked at the little boy in Pat’s arms. He stroked Daley’s head, the downy blonde hair there, and smiled earnestly at Pat. “Congratulations, mate,” he said, though the second word was a little strained. “I’m truly happy for you.” 

Pat swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Thank you. You’re right. He really is,” he said. Then he sniffed and met Morris’ eyes. “You can hold him, if you like. He should get used to you, too.” He knew Morris would be there, day in and day out, for the feeds and nappy changes, the sleepless nights and early dawns. 

The other man looked genuinely surprised, eyebrows raised. “Really?” He said, looking down at Daley with a mix of nerves and wonder. 

He adjusted his arms right, then carefully handed Daley over. “There you go, that’s it. You’ve got him,” he said quietly. 

Morris held him close, and looked genuinely overwhelmed. Pat thought that this ought to have been a different moment, the moment where a father introduces his son to his best friend. Still important, but different than what they had come to be. It made Pat inhale a little sharply; sometimes it was too much, like drinking in lungfuls of icy water. 

He watched them together, though, the way Daley snuffled as he slept and how Morris’ brown eyes turned watery as he smiled, and he knew it would be okay. Morris was, at heart, a good man. Dependable, generous, kind. He’d broken Pat’s heart, but if he made Carol happy and was ready, willing, and happy to step up and love Daley too, then Pat could forgive him. In time, but he _ would _.

“Think he likes you,” Pat commented. He felt Carol’s eyes on them both, and he met her gaze as she mouthed, _ “Thank you.” _Pat saw how her eyes drooped, body drained, and knew it was time for him to leave. 

He leaned down and kissed Daley a few times on the head. 

“I’ll let you both get some rest,” he said as he straightened, grabbing the bag with his stained uniform inside and smiling at Carol. 

Carol turned her head towards him when he reached the door. “I should be discharged in the morning, all being well,” she said, her words slow and tired. “Morris will let you know. Come and see him once we’re home?” 

He nodded, not leaving her question hanging. “‘Course I will,” he promised. “Try and keep me away.” 

Satisfied, Carol closed her eyes, and Pat slipped from the room.

  


Many emotions went through Pat’s head as he left the delivery ward, from euphoric joy to melancholy, but he ended up feeling mild exasperation when he realised rather belatedly that he had no transport home. His car was back at his flat. Moreover, he had no money on him for a bus or a taxi, and he wasn’t up to date enough to have one of those apps on his phone with his debit details on it. He’d have to go outside and call Mary to see if she would save his bacon for the second time that day and he felt awful about it.

He frowned as he pushed open the doors to reception and made a beeline for the exit, his mobile phone in his hand ready. He stopped short when he clapped eyes on the small cluster of chairs in the waiting area, however.

“He’s been there for hours,” a voice said from his side. Pat jumped and turned to see Emma chuckling to herself. “Give him a shove, will you? Poor love’s been snoring like a lion.”

Captain Ackerman was seated on a single blue chair, hands clasped in his lap and his head back against the wall. He heard him snore then, and Pat was glad on behalf of the other man’s dignity that nobody else was around to hear it besides the reception staff and the odd passing nurse or doctor. 

Pat nodded. “Yeah, I’ll wake him up now,” he said, distracted over the clear evidence that the Captain had stayed all this time. While it was true he was asleep, he’d gotten settled enough waiting that he had drifted off to begin with, and so Pat allowed himself to be touched by the gesture. There was a twist of something else in his gut too, small but not at all discreet, and he pocketed his phone with a little swallow.

Emma patted his shoulder. “You should get yourself home, Mr. Williams. It’s been a big day. Congratulations again on becoming a dad,” she said with a smile, pulling on her coat over regular clothes. 

“Thank you,” Pat said, and she took her leave with a last shake of her head and a small laugh at the Captain still sleeping away. 

He wasted no time in hurriedly crossing to the chair. Pat bent and put a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook a few times, and blue eyes opened to his. They were confused, then quickly sharpened as they focused on Pat.

“Only meant to rest my eyes for a moment,” he said as he sat up. He rolled his shoulders and grimaced as he eased a few cricks from his joints. He seemed to notice Pat’s attire, then. “I think I preferred the long socks,” he said drily. Pat huffed, and the Captain ignored him. “How did you get on? Everything went well, I take it,” he said around a badly disguised yawn.

“Perfectly, yeah. Would you like to see him? He’s lovely.” He pulled his phone out again, eager to bestow upon the Captain a series of photos he’d gotten of Daley already. One was even his wallpaper.

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Please spare me the slideshow until _ after _ we’re out of here. If I don’t consume a hot drink within the next half hour I may die, and then you’ll have my disgruntled ghost to deal with as well as a new baby.” He stood and made for the doors, leaving Pat stood awkwardly. The Captain twisted. “Come along, chop chop. You can make the tea if I drive you home to change out of those hideous scrubs.” 

“Fair deal,” Pat said with a shrug. He found himself following the Captain for the second time that day and he had the strangest feeling it was going to become a habit if they carried on the way they were. Funnily enough, he didn’t mind the thought as much as someone else might have.

He actually noticed the Captain’s car the second time around. The first time he’d clambered into the passenger seat he’d been too overcome to care, but he was in a much more stable state as they crossed the concrete car park together. The soft top black Mercedes stood out a bit, glossy and proud; _ it was just about right for the man who drove it_, Pat figured. 

“Far cry from my run-around,” Pat commented. It put his little silver Volvo at home to shame, but it got him from A to B and Pat had never cared much about cars anyway. Still, he whistled as he took his place and clicked his belt into place, marvelling. It was the poshest car he’d ever sat in. 

The Captain smiled, turning the ignition. The engine rumbled into life. “It’s not new. I bought her second-hand from an old friend who made the expected jokes about a midlife crisis. If you have any similar, I’ll thank you to keep them to yourself. The stereo, however, you can help yourself to.”

Pat remembered how he’d changed the station before. Clearly the Captain hadn’t forgotten, either. He smiled. “Thanks.” He paused, then scrunched his face up. “Hang on, you call your car ‘her’? Oh dear, Captain,” he teased.

“Not a _ word_,” the older man warned again.

They turned out of the car park and Pat’s laughter drowned out the radio.

  


Twenty minutes later, the Mercedes was safely parked behind Pat’s on the street outside of his flat. 

Inside the modest but cosy building, the kettle hummed and bubbled as it boiled in the kitchen, and the Captain sat somewhat stiffly on Pat’s hand-me-down sofa as he waited for the younger man to finish getting changed. 

_ “Make yourself at home,” _ he had told him before he hurried off. 

The space was warm and inviting even in the full, summer afternoon light, and the Captain quietly appreciated it for what it was. He looked around, keen eyes landing on knick-knacks and photos, books and old VHS tapes lined up in case alongside precious few DVDs. He chuckled softly to himself; it was all _ very _ Pat, he thought, and he hadn’t even known the man for a day.

There was a flatpack baby crib boxed and unopened sitting in the corner. The Captain’s face softened just barely.

Pat emerged just as the kettle’s switch clicked up again. He wore a grey t-shirt beneath a blue short-sleeved button-up, and some regular old jeans. His socks didn’t match, which made the Captain wrinkle his nose.

“Much better,” he told Pat brightly. He left out the socks lest he get no tea.

“Ta,” Pat said, breezy and casual as he passed him to the kitchen. He picked out two mugs - a plain red one for himself, and one with “Mr. Happy” from _ Mr. Men _ on it for the Captain - and quietly set about making tea. He stirred their drinks and thought of how oddly familiar the whole thing felt, when it should have felt more like he had a stranger in his home - because he _ did_. Instead, Captain Ackerman was perched primly on his settee and he hadn’t even opposed to the man inviting himself over for a cuppa. 

The familiar feeling towed when he reminded himself of the moment before he was led off by nurse Emma, when he began to suspect the Captain might be, to put it bluntly, a bit of a bigot. He frowned and it didn’t leave even when he carried the tea over to his small coffee table. 

The Captain, ever-observant, noticed. “Is something the matter?” He asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned. “It’s not the baby, is it?”

Pat took a seat opposite in his old green armchair and shook his head. He kept his own mug to himself, held it close and blew on the top to cool it before a sip. He swallowed, and sighed. “I’ve had something on my mind, actually. About you. I don’t really know how to be delicate about it, though.”

Surprised, the Captain sat back, arms folded. Defensive. “Out with it, then.”

“Well, the thing is… You were very funny about the nurse assuming we could be a couple. You also didn’t look impressed when I complimented your ‘tache. Forgive me if I’m jumping the gun, so to speak, but I was just hoping you weren’t…” 

The Captain’s jaw tensed, his blue eyes turned to rough seas. “What?” He asked, short and sharp. “Hoping I’m not _ what_?”

“Against being gay,” Pat said in a small voice. He looked down at his mug as the Captain’s eyes bore into his head, and he felt silly all of a sudden. _ Who was he to assume anything? _He could no longer look the man in the eye.

After a few beats of silence, the Captain spoke. “I’m certainly not,” he said briskly. “It would be terribly hypocritical of me, after all.” 

_ That _ made Pat look up again. He almost spilled his tea. “What?”

Instead of being angry, like he had every right to be, Captain Ackerman’s mouth lifted in one corner as he smiled. His eyes were calm again, crinkled at the corners, and he had deflated against the cushions. He seemed at ease.

“I can see where your thoughts went astray, I’ll give you that, but to answer your question: no, I’m not a raging homophobe. I’m gay, Pat. Hopefully that will allow you to infer why I reacted the way I did.”

Pat felt like a first-class numpty. It all clicked. “You were worried two strangers would know - myself and the nurse. You can never be sure how people will react.” He hung his head. “I should have known. I’m so sorry.”

The Captain finally reached for his tea, pausing at the choice of mug and throwing a quick narrow-eyed glance at Pat, before he took a long, grateful drink. It was marvellous. What Pat had lost in merit points for his superb error in judgement, he more than made up for in tea-making skills. 

“It’s quite alright. No need to dwell on it; you couldn’t have known.”

Pat, however, couldn’t let it go that fast. He shook his head and promptly lost his composure, his moustache turned down with his lips. “No, I mean I really _ should _ have known; I may have had a wife, but I’m not straight either.”

He’d been thrown two curve balls in as many minutes and the Captain could only stare, slack-jawed. He blinked. “You’re not?”

“No. No I’m bloody well not.” 

Pat was mad with himself. 

The Captain liked that even less than his mismatched socks.

“I meant it when I said it’s alright. You meant no harm. In fact, I prefer to know if I’ve started a friendship with a homophobe, too. Saves an awful lot of time, not to mention the money on birthday cards.” He pulled an unexpected laugh from Pat and took that as a victory, however small. “There, you see?”

The younger man sighed again, but sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said again, suddenly so very tired from the whole day. He reached beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

“Apology accepted,” the Captain said simply, and that was that. “Now, hurry up and show me photos of your baby like every new parent wants to do before I change my mind. The tea has sufficiently swayed me.” He tried to sound stern, but his face said otherwise.

Pat did as he was told, taking up residence on the next sofa cushion. Their legs almost touched, and their arms absolutely _ did_, and Pat felt decidedly warm as he flicked through the photos slowly on his mobile’s camera roll.

“He was just over eight pounds, and he has the softest blonde hair, and his fingers and toes are so tiny,” Pat gushed, staring at one photo in particular that an exhausted but smiling Carol had taken of him holding Daley.

The Captain looked at them one by one from behind his mug and hummed as Pat talked. He could see the resemblance in Pat in his little nose and his cheeks. Despite his apprehension toward parenting and children, he had to admit that Daley was sweet, and whether that had anything to do with him being an extension of Pat was his knowledge and his alone.

“I’m very happy for you,” the Captain said. “Is it difficult, with the divorce and all? If it’s okay to ask, that is.” 

Pat waved him away. “Nah, it’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t, not always. It would be, though. “It’s not been easy. Carol’s with my best mate - if you can still call him that, I’m not really sure myself - and I’m...here.” He gestured around. “The divorce went as good as it could have, given the circumstances. She’s happy.” 

The Captain tilted his head to one side. “And are you?”

“I’m a dad. I’m counting my blessings,” Pat replied, putting his phone on the coffee table and picking up his mug again.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

Pat picked at a thread on the old sofa. “I’m trying to be happy,” he said. “I have a job I love, and now Daley is here, but I come home at the end of the day and I just feel very alone.” He surprised himself with the honesty, but he knew it had been waiting to escape for so long. It would have happened eventually. He could only silently apologise that the Captain had to bear it.

“I do know that feeling.” He said it like he chose the words carefully, and Pat didn’t imagine he was so open and candid very often. “For what it’s worth, I think you will find happiness again. You hardly seem the type of man to stay down for long, but I suppose I’ve only known you for mere hours when said and done.”

Pat felt his face bloom with heat. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Thank you.”

The Captain nodded. “Not at all, and thank _ you _ for the tea,” he said, promptly draining his mug. “I really must get going though, I’m afraid. I’m envious of your wardrobe change and would quite like to _ not _ be in uniform.”

With a deliberate decision to avoid thinking of the older man in casual clothing, Pat smiled and saw him to the door. 

“Thank you for today, for driving me to the hospital and for staying. You didn’t have to do that,” he said, and the bright sun streaming from the hallway cast the Captain in a rather lovely halo of light.

“It was quite the unexpected chain of events for me, but nonetheless, it’s fine. Haven’t had a day this exciting since I was discharged from duty. It was good to meet you, Pat.” He paused, then added, “Do let me know if you need help putting up that crib. I may be gay, but I know my way around a screwdriver.” With that he retreated, leaving Pat to stare after the man that was seemingly full of surprises.

“Blimey,” Pat said to himself, and shut his door with a click. 

  


He was glad when his head finally hit the pillow that night, and when he tossed and turned a bit, he looked back at the photos of Daley once more and felt himself relax. 

The photos in turn reminded him of showing them to the Captain, and he replayed the day’s events in his head. Being freed from the course, his son being born, the drive home, his conversation with the Captain.

The last thing he thought of before he fell asleep was the man more or less saying he’d be open to seeing him again, in his own way, and how he was _ undoubtedly _ going to take him up on that offer the next chance he got.


	3. But You Had To Come Along, Didn't You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait between chapters. I struggled a bit with this one. I hope you enjoy the new faces and the chapter overall. Thank you!

A huge supermarket on a bustling Saturday morning was not where Pat wanted to be. The car park was full and the shop's aisles were crammed with people, but he pushed his trolley determinedly towards the baby section. His son's early arrival meant he hadn't had the time to buy everything he'd require for the flat. He only had a crib (albeit still frustratingly half-assembled on his sitting room floor) but other necessities he still needed. He had a list and he was determined to fulfil it before the day was through, other shoppers be damned.

“Good thing I put some money aside,” he muttered to himself as his eyes raked over the little paper list in his hand. His wage as a Scout leader kept him comfortable, but babies weren't cheap and so he'd put a little by each month.

The baby aisle was overwhelming, to say the least. He had no idea there were so many options, no idea if he should go with the brand he vaguely knew from telly adverts and magazines or if the other items were just as good. He could have kicked himself for not doing a quick internet search beforehand, to read every review he could find so he didn't buy the wrong thing. He stared at the shelves and felt decidedly out of his depth.

“Do you need any help, sir?” An employee asked with a friendly smile.

Wanting to keep his pride for a while longer, Pat said, “No thank you.”

The woman nodded. “No problem, just ask a member of staff if you do,” she said, and disappeared around the aisle with a few boxes in her arms.

Pat turned back to the shelves, his list clutched tightly in both hands. He leaned in and squinted at all the packaging, reading the information on them to see if he could glean anything from it all.

“Everything alright?” A man asked from behind him, and Pat sighed.

“Yes, thank you,” he said over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a collared shirt and trousers. He aimed for polite but fell short. Clearly the employees thought he was too incapable to even _ browse_.

The man clicked his tongue, which Pat found rather rude. “Suit yourself, you clearly have everything under control,” he said.

It was then that Pat almost ripped the list in half from shock. He turned around and stared at the man with a shopping basket hooked over one arm. At a glance, Pat spotted bread, semi-skimmed milk, and chocolate inside.

“Hello again,” Captain Ackerman said with an amused smile.

“Hi,” Pat said. Distracted as he was, he hadn't realised who the voice belonged to one bit. He gestured to the man's baby blue button-down tucked into dark pressed trousers. “Sorry. I didn't recognise you without your uniform.” He hadn't expected to see him at all. He had spent the last few days since he had seen him debating on whether to call or not. He hadn't known what to say.

The Captain chuckled, then looked to the shelves behind Pat. “Anything I can help with?” He asked, eyebrows raised knowingly.

“Unless you magically have the inside knowledge on baby essentials, then no,” Pat said with a frown. “I think I'm going to just get this one.” He pointed to a high chair that seemed to be sturdy enough from the picture on the box. _ How different were high chairs, really? _ He thought.

The Captain stared. “Why do you assume I know nothing about babies? That's a rather outdated assumption. It _ is _ 2019, Patrick.”

Pat's eyes widened at the sudden sharp ones trained on him. “No, I wasn't implying–it was just a _ joke_, I–” He was cut off when the Captain's shoulders began to shake, the other man biting his own moustache in a lame attempt at stopping his laughter. “Oh, very funny, that is. Much appreciated.” 

“Sorry,” the Captain said, attempting to sober up. “In all fairness, I don't actually know much, but I happen to know someone who does.”

“Oh?”

The Captain hummed. “Yes. My sister has two little girls. Hannah is three, Hollie is six months. She still has some things she never got rid of - a high chair, clothes, some play mats and things of the sort. All in good condition, they've just been outgrown. I could ask her, if you like. I'm headed there once I'm done here.” He lifted his basket.

Pat blinked and worried the paper between his fingers. “Well, that would be really nice, actually. You're sure? I don't want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense, she'll be happy they're going to a good home. Rosie is the biggest recycling advocate you'll ever meet, let it be known. Her first outings with both her girls were green protests, which she dutifully dragged me along to.”

Pat pushed his glasses up and smiled. “Well, that’s good. Teach them young. Climate change is very–”

The Captain waved him off, and Pat clamped his jaw shut. “Yes, yes. Now, let's have a look here,” he said, hand outstretched for the list. “The things she doesn't have you can pick up here, then we'll go for the rest. If that's okay with you, of course.”

“That's fine,” Pat said as he handed the list over, still in disbelief. He didn't know what the odds were of him bumping into the Captain again, let alone of the other man getting him out of a situation once more, but he knew they couldn't have been very high. He didn't know if he believed in fate, either, but if the world kept it up then he would definitely start to.

“Right, well, you can pick up what you need at the pharmacy, your bottle steriliser, and your blankets and clothes and whatnot. Rosie might have some to spare, but it's always better to have too many than not enough. Frightful how fast a baby can work its way through those things.” He paused for a moment as if remembering a particular memory, then handed the list back with a full-bodied shiver. “Sorted?”

Pat smiled and popped it in his pocket. “Walk with me, if you want.”

The Captain nodded. “Lead the way.”

Pat was intrigued at the mention of his sister, of his family. The first time they'd met, the Captain had struck him as a rather private person, so it was nice to hear something that made him a lot more relatable. He was, after all, as human as the rest of them. Rosie sounded lovely too, by all accounts, and he wondered if she was much the same as the Captain in the way she spoke, her mannerisms. He wondered if she was just as dry with a deceptively good wit. As much as it threatened to bring heat to his cheeks, Pat was keen to learn anything more he could about this man, and he was renewed with fresh energy as they made their way steadily around the shop together. 

It was certainly an unexpected pleasure of the day.

He attempted small-talk as he added the few things he needed to his trolley. “Just getting the essentials, then?” He said, nodding to the Captain's basket and clearly referring to the chocolate bar and nothing else.

The Captain seemed to straighten and bristle. “A man can't have his pleasures?” He answered defensively, moving his basket out of view and with it, the bar of _ Dairy Milk_.

“Just asking,” Pat said innocently, loading some muslin cloths and plain baby-grows into his trolley after feeling them, checking they were adequately soft enough. He liked the yellow and red ones best. “I prefer _ Caramac_, myself,” he carried on conversationally.

He was regarded with a look of disgust. “Ghastly. We can no longer be friends,” he said, his nose wrinkled.

Pat laughed. “Bit harsh, Captain.”

“Hardly, and _ please _ \- call me Ronnie. As you said, I'm not in uniform now. Probably won’t be for the foreseeable, actually, so you may as well get used to using my actual name.”

Surprised and strangely honoured, Pat said, “Oh, 'course. Yeah.” He had refrained from using his first name out of respect, despite it being on their records since hiring him through the Scouts. “Short for Ronald, I take it?”

“Ronald was my father,” the Captain answered simply. His gaze clouded for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it happened.

Pat nodded again quickly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” the Captain said. “Now, if we're done discussing your absolutely revolting taste in sweets, let's go. To an _ actual _ person too, please. Those self-checkouts are more trouble than they're worth,” he grumbled, walking off.

Pat followed him to the tills with a small, private smile. They were _ friends _ and he couldn't have been happier. He was glad to have one more person on his side. The fact that it was the Captain only made his smile grow.

  
  
  
  


The short drive to Rosie’s house from the supermarket, Pat spent feeling more than a little nervous. When he parked outside and hopped from his car, his nerves lessened just the barest amount at the sight of the Captain, who arrived shortly before him. He had already taken the two small stairs to the front door and knocked. It swung open just as Pat reached his side.

It revealed a tall, broad woman with cheeks that matched her name and wavy blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. She was younger than the Captain by a considerable few years, Pat thought, but they shared the same nose and deep blue eyes and he liked her instantly. 

She opened her arms warmly, first for the Captain and then for Pat himself, enveloping them both in turn with ease.

“You must be Pat,” Rosie said as she released him. “Nice to put a face to a name; Ronnie’s just about chewed my ear off about you.” She gave her brother a knowing grin that was met by a steely glare. She simply shrugged it off with a laugh and beckoned them both through the door. “Come in, I’ll pop the kettle on.” Her voice was as rich as the Captain’s but Rosie’s accent was regional, thick and familiar, and Pat wondered why it was that she had grown up there and the Captain had clearly not.

“Come along, Pat,” the Captain beckoned, and Pat followed with a warm face.

The house was as inviting as Rosie, with its exposed brick walls and jewel tones, laden with thick carpet and deep wood. Pat liked a house that felt like a home - a proper home, not a store-bought show home - and he appreciated the surfaces lined with photos and the floor littered with children’s toys. It was lived in. It was wonderful. It was exactly what Pat had always wanted, and he took it all in as he was led to an open-plan sitting room with two well-broken-in sofas. 

“I’ll make the drinks. Tea, Pat? You seem like a tea man,” Rosie said, busying herself in the kitchen as the kettle hummed on the counter.

Pat smiled. “Oh, yes please. Two sugars.” 

Rosie nodded. “Good man. His lordship there has none. Reckons he’s sweet enough, but I’ve yet to see the day.” 

When Pat barely bit back a grin, the Captain rolled his eyes, but his disdain was quickly replaced with warmth when the sound of feet hitting the floor rapidly neared and, a second later, a little girl barrelled into the room and onto the sofa into the Captain’s sturdy arms. 

“Uncle Ronnie!” The girl crowed in delight. 

“Hannah, what have I said about running?” Rosie called from the kitchen. 

The little girl simply giggled conspiratorially with the Captain, who held her close with a grin. Her hair was just as bright blonde as her mother’s but fell down in full curls around her face. Her eyes, bright blue, were round and sharp.

The Captain whispered, “Your mummy’s just a grumpy Gus, isn’t she?” 

Hannah laughed louder and nodded, and then her eyes met Pat’s. “Uncle Ronnie, who’s that? His moustache is funny like yours!” She said, pointing. 

Pat gave her a small wave from his seat at the opposite end of the small sofa. “I’m Pat,” he said. “I’m friends with your Uncle. Lovely to meet you.”

The Captain hugged his niece close and touched their noses together. “Pat works for the Scouts, Hannah. Would you like to join the Scouts when you’re older? They do all sorts there, you know. You can learn to shoot a bow and arrow.”

Hannah’s eyes bugged and she bounced excitedly. “Like _ Brave_!” She cried. 

The Captain glanced at Pat with a look that read, _ “Who?” _ and Pat simply grinned at the display. He watched it closely, the way the Captain was so _ brilliant _ with her. His whole demeanour changed; gone was the uptight, rigid man, replaced with mischief and joy and a mellowness with Hannah that he could only describe as innate, as natural as the day turning to night. They were clearly thick as thieves and that warmed Pat to his very core as a new father himself; he couldn’t help but picture himself and Daley in their place.

His heart swelled, and then instantly swooped in his chest when Hannah went on to ask, so very casually, “Uncle Ronnie, is Pat your boyfriend?”

Their eyes met and widened simultaneously. A spoon clinked loudly to the floor behind them. For a beat, there was nothing but silence except for the sound of the kettle’s switch flicking up as it boiled.

“No, sweetheart. He’s my friend,” the Captain told her patiently.

Rosie hurried in, then. “Hannah, why don’t you go and finish the drawing you started for Uncle Ronnie this morning? I’m sure he’d love to see it.”

Hannah shrugged, completely unfazed. “Okay,” she said, and clambered down again. She paused on the spot and turned on her heel, offering her uncle a salute which he returned instantly, a small smile toying at his lips. Then she disappeared from the room at much the same speed she entered it at.

Rosie breathed a sigh of relief when she was out of earshot and looked suitably mortified. “I’m so sorry. You know how they are at her age; so many questions. Last week, she thought the _ Tesco _ delivery man was his boyfriend, too.”

“It’s fine,” Pat said cheerily, perhaps overly so; he was eager to change the subject, his face still slightly red. “You’re here a lot, then?” He asked the Captain, and looked at Rosie. “It must be nice to have your brother around. The little ones must love it, too.” 

He watched as Rosie and the Captain exchanged a look and instantly felt as though he’d royally put his foot in it. 

The Captain cleared his throat beside him. “Actually, I…” 

“Ronnie’s staying here, for the time being,” Rosie jumped in quickly. “It’s a huge help for me, being single with two kids running me ragged. I love them to bits, but it’s hard work.” She smiled and patted her brother’s knee, but her smile quickly disappeared as her narrowed eyes met Pat’s. “So, I hear you’re after my old baby things. Bit cheeky if you ask me.”

Pat’s eyes widened at the sudden switch, caught off-guard. The Captain must have texted her before they set off in their respective cars. “Well, he did say you had some things you weren’t using, but I said I didn’t want to be any bother,” he insisted, and only stared in confusion when Rosie began laughing with a hand on her chest. A moment later, it registered that he was once again having his leg pulled. “Blimey,” he said as he deflated, flooded with relief.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rosie said, entirely too pleased with herself. It was striking how similar she looked to the Captain with her twinkling eyes and wide smile. “But really, it’s not a bother at all. Most of it’s like bloody new, not ready for the charity shops yet.” 

“That’s really kind of you, thank you,” Pat said earnestly.

“Not done yet,” Rosie said, producing a packet of biscuits which she handed to Pat very deliberately. “Don’t let him scoff the lot, he _ is _ a pest for anything sweet, as you may know. I’ll go and see to the tea, now.”

Pat _ did _ know. He smiled as he thought of the chocolate in the basket.

As soon as her back was turned, the Captain swiftly nabbed the packet from Pat’s hands and opened it, taking two for himself before he gave them back. Besides that, he was quiet, his bluster and front seeming to have caved to a reserved silence that Pat didn’t like at all. He saw the man’s rigidity and stoicism had returned entirely.

Pat half-turned to him, hands in his lap. “Sorry about that,” he offered quietly, just loud enough that only the Captain could hear him. 

“It’s fine,” the Captain responded tightly.

For a moment there was just the sounds of them as they chewed and crunched their way through their biscuits. 

The Captain clearly hadn’t intended on revealing his living arrangements; Pat was no genius, but the man was obviously embarrassed, his pride having taken a blow. He looked around the cosy living room as he ate and tried to think of something more substantial he could say to ease things. 

“You have crumbs in your moustache,” came the Captain’s idle comment a few minutes later. He sounded as though he’d loosened up somewhat again.

Pat, surprised, stopped looking at the photos on the mantle and gave him a look. “Not falling for that one, thank you. Twice in one day is enough,” he said, popping the last of the biscuit into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

The Captain let out a soft laugh, eyes dancing with amusement. “No, I’m quite serious this time. You have crumbs in your–” He rolled his eyes and reached out, swiping above Pat’s top lip with the pad of his thumb. Pat’s breath instantly lodged in his throat, very much the deer caught in the headlights. “There. The woes of facial hair, hm?”

After a not-so-discreet cough, Pat nodded. “Right, yeah.” Internally, he was running over the moment again. The casual touch had made him entirely short-circuit and he could have hit himself with the ridiculousness of it. _ It was just a harmless gesture, _ he scolded himself. _ It would never mean anything more, not for me. It was nothing. _If the Captain had intended to break the awkwardness, he’d only succeeded in creating something new entirely - at least on Pat’s part.

Rosie chose that moment to return with a tray of mismatched mugs of tea. 

“Now then. You enjoy your cuppa and then Ronnie will show you the stuff in the spare room,” she said. “I’ll just go and check on the girls.” 

The Captain stood abruptly, a hand outstretched. “No, it’s alright. I’ll check on them, you just sit there and have a minute. Lord knows, you barely stop.” He smiled a smile that was short-lived and if Pat didn’t know better, he’d say the man was ready for an excuse to slip away from the tension that had formed.

He said nothing and sipped his tea, and the Captain slipped quietly upstairs.

Rosie sighed and sagged against the sofa, mug held to her chest. She had a faint smile on her face. “He’s very sweet, you know, underneath all that.” She gestured vaguely with a loose hand, as if Pat would know what she meant, and he was surprised to find he did. “Been good as gold since he was sent home, helped out whenever I’ve asked. Some of it’s boredom and some of it’s feeling useless I think; he’s restless, like he’s wasting away. Having two kids in the house keeps him on his toes, but I just worry he’s struggling with everything. He’ll talk and talk but he doesn’t really say anything about himself. Have you noticed?”

Pat had sat and listened, taking in the way Rosie spoke about the Captain. It offered a sliver of light onto who he was, and _ why _he was, but posed more questions. Pat looked at Rosie. “I only met him a few weeks ago,” he confessed.

At that, Rosie seemed genuinely shocked. “Christ, really? He talks about you like you’re old friends. I assumed he came back and just reconnected with you, that’s all.” She sat forwards, set her cup down, and lowered her voice. “Did you meet that day at the camp, then?”

The camp felt like a lifetime ago already. Having a newborn baby brought into the world did that, and he found time didn’t mean what it once had. “Yes,” he said. “The Scouts sometimes do work with the Army and we wanted to bring someone in to do an assault course for the kids. It didn’t end well.” He grimaced at the memory, but it also served to ease some of his lingering agitation. 

“So I’ve been told,” Rosie said with a chuckle. “I’m gobsmacked, though. He’s not been this spritely since he came back, and now I know why.” She gave Pat a mildly discerning look, but it was with a smile. Pat didn’t know if that made him feel better or more on edge.

He blinked. “How do you mean? I’ve not done anything remarkable. In fact, _ he’s _ the one that’s helped _ me _ \- he drove me to the hospital when my son was born, the same day we met. Don’t know what I’d have done without him, really.” It was more strange than it was affirming to say it out loud - and to the Captain’s sister, no less - but there was no doubt that it made the past few weeks wholly more real. He could no longer dodge the fact that he had met this man, and met him again after that, and both times he had caught him in a pinch. That meant something to Pat, and since they were friends by the Captain’s own words, he could only assume it meant something to _ him_, too.

_ It would never mean anything more, not for me, _his brain helpfully repeated, and successfully knocked him down a peg once again.

“Just between you and me,” Rosie began, her voice even lower. “You’re not the only one adjusting to a new lifestyle right now. He’s been through a lot the past few months - _ years,_ actually - and that’s for him to tell you about if and when he wants to. I’ll just say this: I’m chuffed to bits with how _ different _he’s seemed recently.” She held her hands up innocently. “But who am I to say it’s because he met you? What do I know, eh? I’ll keep my beak out.” She offered him a final smile and went back to her tea as footsteps descended the stairs slowly.

The Captain entered the room, drawing all attention back to him and - and to the bundle he carried carefully in his arms. Pat heard snuffles and saw small, chubby limbs reach out beyond the blanket. He held baby Hollie so very _ sweetly _ in his embrace and Pat’s heart leapt at the sight. It seemed the man was a born natural with children, something he never could have predicted for all his initial prickliness with his Scout kids.

“This little terror refused to sleep another wink,” he announced, rocking her and tutting softly. “Didn’t you? Yes.” His voice was calm, soothing, and Pat could only stare. He was sure his eyes shone with adoration, but he could easily blame that on the baby rather than the person holding her - he was a new parent, after all.

He watched as the Captain handed her over to Rosie, awestruck. 

“She’s nothing like her sister,” Rosie spoke softly down to her daughter. “She’d nap every time I put her down. How’s Daley with sleep, Pat?” 

Pat took a second too long to register the question, eyes still trained on the Captain with his lips slightly parted, and he came back to himself when the Captain narrowed his eyes just a tad. 

“Hm?” Pat asked, eyebrows shot to his hairline. He fought against the pink dappling his face. “Oh, he sleeps like a dream. Sleep all day if you let him,” he said with a laugh that was just a hair too tight to be totally natural.

The Captain, who still looked suspicious, turned to his sister. “Well, if that’s enough baby talk from you both, I’ll steal Patrick and get what we need from upstairs.” He glanced back at Pat. “Chop chop, then.” 

On his way out, Rosie leaned over to Pat. “‘We’ now, is it?” She asked with a smirk. He looked at her with owlish eyes and found he had no response except to smile as though he hadn’t got a clue what she was implying.

Her laugh followed him as he hurried on.


	4. Rewrite The Rule Book

It took two trips back and forth to Pat’s car - he and the Captain both with armfuls of boxes - before everything was packed up and ready to go. Upon Rosie’s insistence that it was doing both of them a favour, he pushed down the feeling of guilt and accepted the kindness for what it was. After all, he wasn’t foolish enough to turn down such helpful gestures; he needed all the help he could get. He made sure to repeat his gratitude a few times in case it wasn’t obvious enough.

“Pat, honestly, it’s okay,” Rosie said from her doorstep. She pulled Pat into a hug that was much shorter than when she had greeted them, but a little tighter. “It can be a lonely thing, this, but you’ll be alright,” she said, and it was softer and gentler, meant for Pat’s ears only. He wondered briefly just how much the Captain _ had _ shared with her, or whether she just had a knack for understanding someone so soon after meeting them.

Behind them, the man in question shut the boot to Pat’s car before returning to his side.

“Ronnie, tell him to stop fretting,” Rosie told her brother.

The Captain made no such move. He simply gave Pat a look, eyebrows lifted, and that was that. He seemed antsy, eager to get moving, and Pat had to tear his eyes away to meet Rosie with a smile.

When he thanked Rosie for the thousandth time, Rosie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Anytime, and don’t be a stranger,” she said, and no sooner had she spoken was her attention being pulled away by Hollie crying from her crib. With an apologetic look and a final squeeze to his arm, she quickly took her leave and clicked the door softly shut behind her. 

It left Pat alone with the Captain once more.

“Right then,” the Captain said, turning on his heel. “Let’s get that lot to its new home.” 

Pat shook his head. “No, no. Really, I’ve imposed enough,” he insisted, holding his hands up. He didn’t want to wear him thin, worry forcing his stomach to clench. He hated to be a burden on anyone, but the Captain especially it seemed.

Not to his immense surprise, he was given the very same raised-brow look before the older man began the short walk to Pat’s car. “It’s the most efficient solution; it took two of us to load it, so it stands to reason it will take both of us to _ unload _it. The sooner you stop dawdling, the sooner it will be done, hm? Come along.”

He watched as the Captain retreated, gazing at the slope of his shoulders and how the soft cotton of his shirt sat against his muscles. In his uniform, Pat hadn’t seen the true outline of his body, but in this simple and light attire he could appreciate every fine detail. It wasn’t just his face that was handsome and appealing, if the curve of his back and the long, lean lines from his hips to his thighs were anything to go by. 

“Right-o,” Pat said to himself under his breath. He was getting quite used to following him and it seemed the more he did so, the less he minded. As he rushed to catch up, he couldn’t help but think that he might just about agree to follow him anywhere.

  
  


Pat was just as distracted watching him lift the boxes from the car and up into his flat, and he quietly admired the other man as they shifted everything. 

On the last trip, Pat was startled out of his appreciation.

The Captain let out a sharp shout of pain and sent the box he had been holding suddenly clattering to Pat’s living room carpet. His face was scrunched up, eyes shut, and his hand flew to his lower back as he stooped over slightly.

Pat hurriedly placed his own box on his sofa. “Are you okay!?” He asked, loud and concerned. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds before touching a hand to the Captain’s arm. “Ronnie?” He asked, softer that time, when the man didn’t respond and instead remained in his stiff position. 

“I’m...fine,” the Captain said after a minute. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Pat said, calling his bluff immediately. “Let’s get you sat down, maybe. That might help.” 

When he began to lead the Captain, however, the older man shrugged him off and forced himself to straighten. His back clicked defiantly and his face clouded, frustration bubbling quickly to the surface. The line between his brows was more prominent than Pat had ever seen it.

“I’m _ fine_.” He was very much on the defensive. “I don’t need your mithering, thank you.”

Pat let his hand fall away; the harsh tone left him feeling more than a little stung. “Mithering?” He questioned with a frown. “If you’ve hurt yourself, you’ve no need to be embarrassed. Those boxes weren’t light, mate.” The word ‘mate’ felt like a step too forced, sat oddly on his tongue, but he pushed that aside and refused to get tripped up. “It’s okay.”

The Captain scoffed. “Please. I assure you it was just a twinge. It happens, and I do _ not _ need you to fuss. I get quite enough of that as it is; people think I’m absolutely incapable of handling myself. Now if we are _ quite _ finished, I have better things to be doing than standing here explaining myself to _ you_,” he spat.

The silence was palpable afterwards. Pat stared at him, eyes glossy with anger and upset as he attempted to blink both things back. His lower lip trembled with it and he exhaled carefully through his nose. It was hardly the picture of composure but Pat had never claimed to be good at masking his feelings.

“Right then,” he said, quiet and clipped.

The Captain’s eyes widened at the response. Clearly he knew he’d stepped out of line, his embarrassment turned to anger which he’d taken out on the only other person nearby. His realisation could do nothing to revoke what had already been said and his sour expression duly morphed into shame.

“Now, Pat—” he started guiltily.

“_No_,” Pat interjected, standing his ground and steeling himself to be harsher than he usually would. “The thing is, _ Captain_, is that I never asked for you to help me bring the boxes in. You insisted. I’ve repeated myself until I’m blue in the face that I don’t want to be a bother, but you said it was okay. Now you’re throwing it back in my face and acting as though I’m inconveniencing your day. Well you’re free to go, don’t let me keep you. I only wanted to make sure you were fine. My mistake, won’t happen again.”

The Captain stared at him, his chest heaving. “It’s an injury,” he said tightly.

Arms folded, Pat’s eyes narrowed. “I know, I saw. Doesn’t make it an excuse.” 

“I don’t intend to excuse myself. I _ mean _ that I was already hurt before I met you,” the Captain elaborated, rolling his eyes before stopping to stare at the floor, catching his own behaviour. “It’s why I was discharged.”

More silence. 

Pat felt mildly horrified. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. 

“Don’t be,” the Captain said with a weary sigh. He sounded as though he wanted to do anything but continue, but he swallowed his pride and gave Pat the explanation he very well deserved. “It wasn’t an injury obtained through anything traumatic. Believe it or not, I was bending to pick something up and it simply snapped like an elastic band, just like now. Could happen to anyone, or so the doctor said. Stopped my career rather impressively in its tracks, however.” 

“For good?”

“Permanent damage,” he clarified. “Unfortunate, but there we are.”

“Blimey,” Pat said, sagging to the sofa beside his forgotten box. “That must have been really hard to deal with.” 

Most of Pat’s anger dissipated at the shift in the Captain’s face and body, the way he seemed to collapse in on himself as he took a seat beside him. He looked like a man defeated. Pat could sympathise with that, to an extent.

“Indeed,” the Captain offered simply. “I suppose I’m not as young as I used to be, even though the doctor insisted age wasn’t too big a role in it. Certainly didn’t make me feel any younger.”

Pat wrung his hands together nervously in his lap as he watched the other man, the thin line of his lips and tired eyes.

“Your sister said you’d had a hard time of it. I suppose this is why, isn’t it?” He asked. When the Captain’s head shot up, Pat valiantly pushed down the feeling of once again putting his foot in it. Instead, he pressed on, albeit gently. “She didn’t go into detail if you’re worried, just that you’d been doing a lot of adjusting recently. I know a bit about that.” He gave a small smile, a peace offering of sorts, and shrugged. 

The Captain regarded him and slowly but surely, the line between his brows softened just the barest amount. “Yes. I suppose you do,” he said, and extended his side of the olive branch. 

“Tea?” Pat asked finally, accepting it.

“Yes, please.” 

  
  
  


When he returned with two piping mugs, Pat didn’t comment on the discreet cushion placed at the small of the Captain’s back that hadn’t been there when he’d left. He could only try not to take it personally that the Captain had chosen not to disclose his discomfort or pain; he was a private man. Still, Pat hoped it wasn’t too bad. If it was, he certainly didn’t show it. 

“Thank you,” the Captain said quietly, blowing the steam from his tea.

Pat hugged his own to his chest. “That’s alright.”

“Rosie was also referring to my being gay, if you were wondering,” he continued, barely missing a beat, and seemed to take some small amusement in the way Pat choked a bit on his drink. “My injury aside, it’s been my biggest adjustment.”

Rubbing at his shirt where a bit of tea had spilled, Pat asked, “Oh?” 

“Mm,” the Captain hummed. “It wasn’t a discovery I made young, as I hear about often. Throughout boarding school and into college and University, I was blissfully unaware of why I couldn’t seem to keep a girlfriend for more than a week without finding some reason to end it. It wasn’t until my fortieth birthday that a man caught my eye at a bar and everything clicked into place, but I was already in the Army by then and had other priorities.” He stared down into his mug and the line returned. “Climbing the ladder left no time for...other things. Perhaps it was a deliberate evasion. I think I spent many years in denial.”

Pat took it all in and tried to act nonchalant, despite it being a world away from his own experiences and quite devastating to hear. He’d known from an early age that he was bisexual, had done quite a bit of exploring it too, but he wasn’t narrow-minded enough to assume that everyone had that same story.

“Well, it’s not a race, is it? I bet there’s plenty of people who don’t catch on until they’re older. No shame in it,” he said, and Pat loathed how textbook of a response it sounded and how it could hardly erase the years his friend spent trying to avoid his feelings. It _ was _ the truth, though. Pat believed that fully.

The Captain looked thoroughly unconvinced. “Isn’t there?” He asked.

“No,” Pat insisted firmly. “We’ve all got our own lives, haven’t we? Things happen in the order they do and that’s how it is. We wouldn’t be exactly who we are if they didn’t.”

It was hardly the most profound thing to say but the Captain raised his eyebrows and seemed to mull it over. “That is a fair point,” he conceded. 

“It is, yep. Also, the boarding school thing explains a lot,” Pat said with a grin. “The voice, I mean. I did wonder why you sounded so..._ like that_.”

The Captain rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes. Clearly the most important take-away from this whole conversation is my voice and not the laughable place I’ve ended up in my life due to my own personal failings.”

Pat chuckled for a second but when the Captain refrained from joining in, he sniffed and knocked his leg lightly against the other man’s. “Listen. I’m dead serious, you know. It doesn’t matter if you’ve not had the same experience as other people. There’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, look at me! I’m divorced at forty with a newborn and a rented flat. Take it from another man living a bit unconventionally for his age: there’s no set file-path to life.”

“File-path?” The Captain asked with a squint, like Pat had sprouted a second head and had said something in a completely foreign tongue.

Pat blinked. “You know, a designated order of opening files on a computer.” 

The Captain made a noise of vague despair and tipped his head back, as if the heavens themselves would save him. “Forgive me. I had a momentary lapse in memory and forgot that I’ve befriended a complete and utter _ geek_.”

Agape, Pat said, “You went to boarding school!”

“Ah, ah, Patrick - my education doesn’t mean I own _ Star Trek _ on VHS.” To Pat’s further mouth-drop, he added, “Yes, I’ve seen your little collection and I must say, you’ve got gall having that on public display.” He hooked his thumb in the general direction of Pat’s small TV stand.

Pat huffed. “It’s a cult classic and at least _ I _ don’t have a secret love affair with chocolate and digestive biscuits. Two can play at that game, _ Ronnie_.”

The way Pat said his name so intently made the Captain falter a little, but his newfound smile didn’t waver. He simply shrugged. “As I said to you before: a man can have his pleasures.” 

“That he can,” Pat agreed. “Even if he _ does _ find them a bit later in life.” 

At that, the Captain flushed and hid his face with a long sip of tea to avoid responding with anything more than a non-committal hum.

“So what are you going to do now, then? You said it had stopped your career in its tracks,” Pat said after a minute, bringing the conversation back around again. “I take it staying at Rosie’s isn’t a long-term plan.”

It was a topic that made the Captain grimace and brace himself. He swallowed and tapped his fingers nervously against ceramic. “Honestly, Pat, I haven’t the foggiest. I was...not in a good place, when I came home. I’m only just finding my feet and while I adore my sister and the girls, I do need a plan and I need one soon. It’s very unlike me to just take each day as it comes. There’s a lack of structure that is difficult to be without, and is a huge reason I joined the Army in the first place.” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa seat.

Pat thought back to the man he had met at the camp such a small time ago, upright with confidence and a little bit of arrogance, too. It was a stark contrast to the man sat beside him then, desperate for a bout of good luck and some direction, a crutch to keep him from losing balance. 

With little effort to stop himself, Pat blurted, “You could always come and work with me.”

The Captain watched him, cautious yet intrigued. “With you?” He asked.

“Yeah, you know, with the Scouts,” Pat clarified. “Not really with _ me_, I suppose, because I doubt Mary wants to give up her job assisting me and I doubt even more that you want me as your superior.” He paused for breath amidst his ramble and then said, “There is a manager vacancy opening up, though. Maybe that would be more your cup of tea. Hiring, organising teams and initiatives, leading meetings, all of that. You’d see me every so often.” 

With the face of someone going rapidly through the suggestion and weighing up all the pros and cons, the Captain eventually hummed and said, “Yes. Yes, that might be just what I’m looking for.” His blue eyes sparked to life.

“I’d put in a good word for you, of course,” Pat added with a beam. 

The Captain faltered. “I wouldn’t have to wear the shorts and socks, would I?” 

Pat’s brain unhelpfully supplied him with a mental image of the Captain in shorts and his eyes threatened to flicker south.

He swallowed. “No, nothing like that,” he promised, however much his heart apparently desired it. He resolutely told it to _ behave_ because if they were going to be colleagues of sorts, he’d have to get whatever his feelings were under better control. He swallowed again.

Satisfied, the Captain knocked his mug against Pat’s. “Then it’s a deal.”

“Great!” Pat chirped, and refused to consider what he’d let himself in for.

  
  


Two months later, Pat was at Carol’s as he dropped Daley off one evening. 

Morris was at work and so Pat put Daley in his crib himself where he would usually hand him over. The crib was a smaller one situated in the living room for ease and as he settled him, they got onto talking about work at the Scouts. To his instant regret, Carol finally voiced her curiosity over the man Pat had mentioned a fair few times since he had come into his life.

“So you met him a couple of months ago and you’ve already gotten him a job with you?” Carol asked from her living room sofa, dubious.

What Carol didn’t know - and _ wouldn’t _ know - was that he and the Captain had begun to text a lot in the months since he had passed the interview with flying colours to become management. Some evenings they would talk on the phone, too, Pat in hushed tones when Daley was there. It was a treasured part of his life’s new routine and although they hadn’t met again outside of work (despite Pat’s intention to ask as soon as he worked up the courage), they _ had _ crossed paths a few times while Pat was attending to his Leader duties or sitting in meetings. Once or twice he’d even had to go directly to him for a request for this or that for future Camps. It had left Pat shaky in the knees for days afterwards but with a warm glow in his chest that was distinctly shaped like _ him_.

To have their relationship questioned by his ex-wife felt suitably exposing and uncomfortable and he rubbed his finger against the smooth wood of Daley’s crib, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. “He’s a friend. He was looking for a new job and it seemed like a fit for him. He’s been good to me and it’s been nice to have someone to talk to,” he said coolly, because deliberately underplaying the growing role the Captain was taking with him was the only way he would get out of the situation with some dignity.

Carol’s expression turned morose. “Oh, so he’s someone you can talk to about me, you mean?” Her eyebrows were at her hairline, arms crossed defensively.

Pat’s frown deepened, a bit stumped. “That’s not fair. I just mean that having an extra person to lean on hasn’t gone amiss. You have Morris, and who do I have?” He winced as soon as it left his mouth; his word choice was all she needed to see right through him.

Her eyes widened. “Just a friend my backside,” she said accusingly, because Pat had indeed forgotten just who he was talking to. They had been _ married_, and once upon a time they were very much in sync and knew each other inside out. 

In truth, there was no use in backpedalling. Pat sighed and rubbed a hand over his face wearily. “You can’t have it both ways, Carol,” he said tiredly. “You can’t decide you’d rather be with someone else and then be angry when I show the first signs of moving on. It doesn’t work like that. I just want to be_ happy._”

“And you think that could be with him?” She asked, straight to the point.

Pat blinked and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, throwing his arms up. “Maybe. I don’t even know if he’s interested in me like that, and…” He took a breath, whatever he was about to tack on dying on his lips. “I don’t want to have this conversation. It’s not your business anymore. You lost that privilege a long time ago.” It hurt him to say, the words acidic in his mouth, but he thought it was fair enough and so raised his chin and didn’t back down.

Carol seemed as though she was going to protest, but she deflated against her sofa cushions and ran a hand through her frizzy hair, messing the wild strands up further. She puffed a breath through pursed lips and her expression crumbled. She shook her head, wiping beneath suddenly watery eyes. 

“God, you’re right,” she said with a sigh and a sniff. “You’re right, Pat; I’m sorry.” She made to stretch for a tissue from the coffee table but Pat beat her to it, offering her the small cardboard box and wondering, in the back of his head, if he’d run out of olive branches one day.

While she dabbed at her cheeks and blew her nose, he took a ginger seat beside her. “No matter who comes and goes in my life from this point, Daley will _ always _ be my number one priority. I’ll always be there when he needs me, and I’ll do my best to never let him down. But I deserve to love someone again, and I don’t owe you my justifications for who I see and who I don’t. Okay?” He said softly. “I promise you that if anything ever became serious, I would talk to you about it for Daley’s sake. I would do the right thing.”

Carol hesitated before covering Pat’s hand with her free one. “I know that, of course I know. I don’t know what came over me.” She heaved a deep breath and blinked rapidly, head tilted skyward as she tried to compose herself. When she looked back to Pat, she was remorseful. 

“I should have done the right thing too, with Morris. With you. I should have been honest and I can never make that right, and I’ll always regret hurting you. I just hope you can forgive me one day even though I know I don’t deserve it and neither does he,” she said. “I did love you, Pat. You’re a good man, and you didn’t deserve how we treated you. Not for a second.”

“I know,” Pat agreed, neither soft nor firm.

“To which bit?” 

“Well - to all of it, I suppose.” 

Carol nodded. “Quite right. You deserve to move on and if it’s with Ronnie, then I hope it goes well. If not, I know you’ll meet someone. I’m sorry for being a _ lot _ out of line,” she apologised quietly with a sniffle.

Pat sighed and looked down at their hands. Once upon a time, it was a sight that filled him with butterflies, made his heart sing. Now it was just a bit sad. Like touching a ghost, the smudge of something that once was. 

“You have just had a baby - _ our _ baby - so I don’t blame you for being emotional; I’d probably want to shout and scream a bit if I’d done what you did two months ago.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll forgive you, in time. _ Both _ of you. It’s what’s best for all of us at the end of the day. We can do it for our and Daley’s future, can’t we?” 

“I hope we can,” Carol said, and she meant it.

Pat squeezed her hand once before he gently pulled his away. “I’ll leave you both in peace. Put your feet up, stick _ Corrie _ on and have some chocolate,” he said, offering a smile. 

He turned then, leaning over the small cot where Daley slept soundly, swaddled in a yellow blanket Pat had bought himself. He leaned in and kissed his head once, soft as could be, and trailed a feather-light fingertip down a chubby cheek before he pulled away with glassy eyes. The sight of him still formed a lump in Pat’s throat, completely overwhelmed, and no matter what had happened between himself and Carol, he could never have a single regret when they brought him into the world together.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered. 

Carol watched him, a faint smile on her lips. “We’ll work something out proper,” she said as he made to turn and leave. “A schedule on paper so you get as much time with him as possible. I won’t do wrong by you again, Pat, I swear. I can already see how much of a natural dad you are.”

Pat smiled again, over his shoulder. “I appreciate that. Thank you.” 

“Thank you, too,” she said.

Happy that there was a newfound understanding between them, Pat felt altogether more at peace as he shut the door carefully behind him. 

His phone vibrated on the way back to his car and, even though he knew who it was before he even pulled it from his pocket, his face lit up at the sight of the Captain’s name on the screen.

> **_Ronnie (19:27)_  
** _Despite us barely being in November, Rosie is insisting you attend our annual Christmas Eve gathering at her house. I’m giving you ample warning that our family friends can be unbearable company but there will be food and drink so not all is lost. Hope to see you there. _
> 
> ** _Ronnie (19:27)_ ** _  
_ _ Christmas jumpers non-negotiable. Her words, not mine. How wonderful. _

Pat didn’t fight the grin that encapsulated his face, the familiar glow back in his rib cage and brighter and more fierce than it had ever been as he tapped out a reply.

> ** _Pat (19:28)_  
** _I'll wear my antlers._
> 
> **_Ronnie (19:28)_** _  
_ _ Spare me. _
> 
> **_Pat (19:29)_** _  
_ _ Merry Christmas! [Santa emoji] [Christmas Tree emoji] _
> 
> **_Ronnie (19:30)_** _  
_ _ NOVEMBER, Patrick. Control yourself. _
> 
> ** _Pat (19:30)_ ** _  
_ _ Scrooge. _

He sat in his parked car and let his thoughts wander to his upcoming Christmas. It was already set to be one he would never forget as the first with his son, but he thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be the only first he’d be blessed with. He could only hope, even if his mind was quick to berate him for hoping at all. 

Christmas Eve could not come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is CHRISTMAS TIME, babey! All that good shit. I hope you're looking forward to the festive yearning.


	5. You Are Brave, Even As You Fall Apart (Christmas: Part One)

As it always did, Christmas crept up fast, and time was no more lenient than it usually was when it came to fatherhood and a full-time job. Though Pat sat on the journey to Rosie’s house with a stomach full of nerves, he was still grateful to have the chance of a small break after a hectic few months. He was looking forward to some adult conversation and some drinks to warm him through, and not least the chance to talk to the Captain properly again. It was hardly the same when they had seen each other a few times at work.

With an invitation of her own, Mary had decided to join him. Pat was all the happier for it. For all the months of Pat’s divorce, she had been a solid source of support. He talked to her about everything. She wasn’t privy to _ just _how much the Captain was beginning to mean to him but she had enough sense to tell that it was important to him all the same. She had always been that way, had Mary; she understood more than she let on.

“I’m still surprised he invited me. Personally I’m not too keen on his bossy streak so I’m hoping he’s more fun with a few drinks down him.” She winked and handed him a bottle of wine in a slim gold gift bag. Two Christmas cards were neatly placed inside, too.

“You know, he’s nice if you give him a chance,” Pat said, accepting the bag.

Mary hummed. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said, but it wasn’t entirely without a smile, her expression softened a bit at Pat’s obvious care.

Out of his window, Pat looked up at the small detached house as it came into view. It looked cosy against the backdrop of the dark early evening, gold fairy lights trimmed below the roof, along the overhang, and framing each window. A wreath hung on the painted door, twisted brown and adorned by sprigs of holly with frosted berries. The home twinkled softly and inside he saw people standing as they laughed with glasses in their hands, the picture of inviting merriment. 

When he spotted the Captain talking to a guest, his head tipped back as he laughed, Pat almost forgot to breathe. True to Rosie’s word, he wore a Christmas jumper, but it was a low-key affair in a simple olive green, patterned in thin stripes of blue, yellow, and grey. It was also the first time Pat had seen him in _ jeans _ of all things, dark grey and well-fitted. He could only stare and clutch the gift bag in his lap a little too tight. His own outfit - a bright red jumper covered in snowflakes - felt like a mistake in comparison. He felt his cheeks flush and his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow as he wondered if it was too late to cancel. He wasn’t so sure the night was a good idea if the rolling waves in his stomach were anything to go by.

“That’ll be nine pounds fifty,” their taxi driver said, switching on the lights in the car before twisting back to face them expectantly.

Startled, Pat gave an apologetic smile and handed over a ten pound note. “Keep the change, have a good night,” he said, earning the driver’s gruff but warm thanks.

They stepped from the car and into the chilly air. To Pat, it didn’t seem like two seconds since they were on the cusp of Summer’s end, Daley brought into the world red-faced and new. He didn’t know how the holidays had come around so quickly, but there they were, taking the short pathway to Rosie’s front door. 

Steeling himself, he did a quick rap on the wood and then shoved his free hand into his pocket. He and Mary waited there with faint Christmas music drifting to them through the walls. A second passed, then behind the frosted glass there was movement. 

When the door swung open, there the Captain stood.

“Evening,” he said warmly, a half-empty glass in his hand. His eyes immediately met Pat’s and they seemed to shine, the gold fairy lights making him appear much warmer than Pat had ever seen him before.

“Hello,” Pat greeted, unsure of what else to say as briefly the rest of the world melted away to non-existence.

The Captain quickly caught himself when he noticed Mary bobbing on the spot to keep herself warm, her breath twisting up in the air in front of her face. He held out a hand before standing back. “Please come in,” he said, beckoning them inside. “We’re glad you could both make it.”

“Thanks!” Mary said cheerily and wasted no time in breezing past him, on a quest to find the nearest offering of alcohol and a mince pie, Pat had no doubt.

Blinking, the Captain’s eyes trailed after her as he asked, “Is she always…?” 

Pat nodded. “Pretty much, yeah,” he answered, stepping over the threshold so the Captain could close the door behind him. 

In front of the door they lingered, and Pat thrust the gold gift bag in the Captain’s direction. “This is for you, by the way. I wasn’t sure what you drink, or _ if _you drink, but clearly you do,” he rambled, pointing to the Captain’s glass, “so that’s...good,” he finished lamely. “There’s cards, too. One for you, one for Rosie and the girls.”

The Captain laughed richly, either unphased by his flustered rambling or choosing the kind route of not acknowledging it. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll take them through. Follow me and I’ll get you a drink, put some warmth back in you,” he said. “Nice jumper, by the way,” he added with a grin.

As if he wasn’t already warm all over, Pat walked with him to the kitchen with flushed cheeks and watched as the Captain poured him a glass of the same wine he was drinking before topping up his own glass generously. The rest of the guests were gathered in the living room and Pat could hear their laughter and conversation mingling with Christmas music, but they were alone in Rosie’s small kitchen. 

“There you are,” the Captain said, handing over his drink. He tapped his own against Pat’s before he could move it away, his smile making his eyes crease at the corners. “Cheers.” 

Pat smiled as he pulled his drink back to his chest. “Cheers,” he echoed softly. “So. Looks like you’ve got a full house, then,” he commented.

He was rewarded with a weary look. “Everyone is so dreadfully glib,” he said. “Conversation is all who is having children and marrying who, which celebrity is writing what book or in what film, and so on and so forth. But Christmas is Christmas and Rosie can usually bear the brunt of that drivel. A true saint.” 

“Well, they’ll regret it if they decide to talk to Mary, I’ll tell you that for free. She can talk for England,” Pat said, smiling around a sip of wine. “It’s nice, though. To have a big family, I mean. I don’t really see much of mine, and I only have Daley for a few hours tomorrow morning.” His smile fell then as he stared down into his glass. “Sorry, listen to me bringing the mood down on Christmas Eve. I’ve only just got here, too.” 

The Captain watched him for a moment, the neck of his wine glass twisting in his hand, and then he cleared his throat and set it down on the counter. He stepped forwards and, reaching out, carefully brushed Pat’s shoulder down. 

For the second time in one evening, Pat forgot to breathe, half expecting the man to adjust his collar next. His proximity and casual but deliberate touch, while sudden, was certainly not unwelcome and Pat watched him expectantly, his blue eyes wide and wine glass clutched tight. He stood so close that Pat could smell his cologne, reminding him of when they first met, the inside of his car, the times they had briefly spoken at work. Maybe his months of not drinking had made two sips of wine go straight to his head, or maybe he was under the influence of something much stronger. All Pat knew was that he wanted to stay that close, perhaps for the whole night if they could.

“Being glum won’t change things,” the Captain told Pat firmly, “so we have to make the most of the cards we’re dealt. After the year we’ve both had, I think you and I know that well enough, don’t we?” He asked, lowering his hand but only stepping back just barely.

Pat looked up through his lashes. “We do,” he agreed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

The Captain smiled. “No need for apologies,” he said. “Now, pick your face up off the floor and drink up. Don’t make me introduce you to Aunt Elaine - she can and _ will _ bore you to death, but if I must punish you for being downhearted on Christmas Eve of all days then I shall. Alright?”

Pat tried to appreciate the gesture for what it was, even if deep down all he really wanted to do was get his sorrows out in the open and _ then _ finish off a few glasses of wine. He nodded anyway, figuring a Christmas party was hardly the place to do that. “I’ll do my best,” he said with a plastered-on smile.

“Good man,” the Captain said, treating Pat to a small smile of his own.

“Pat!” A happy voice called from behind them, a spectacular interruption that Pat wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved by. 

The Captain rolled his eyes. “And there goes your brief whiff of peace in this household for tonight. Prepare yourself,” he warned, straightening up and discreetly putting more space between them in the process. 

Pat was definitely disappointed by that.

Rosie crossed the kitchen to them and didn’t hesitate before she threw her arms around Pat, and that took the edge off the disappointment a little. “It’s so lovely to see you,” she said, giving him a squeeze. “And you,” she said, pointing to the Captain over Pat’s shoulder, “I heard that. You’d better be treating my _ favourite _ guest well.” 

“He is,” Pat assured. They pulled apart and he asked, “Have you met Mary yet?” 

Laughing, she leaned in. “Didn’t have a chance to say hello; Aunt Elaine snagged her, poor love. She might not make it out alive.” 

“God help her,” the Captain chimed in, taking the chance to uncork Pat’s bottle of wine to fill his sister’s empty glass. “Hope she came with fighting spirit. She’ll need it.”

“That’s what I said,” Rosie agreed, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “So, what are your plans for Christmas, Pat? How’s the little one? Mine are tucked up now, and I’m making the most of it because Hannah will have me up at the crack of dawn. I saw your photos on _ Facebook _ of Daley, he’s an angel.”

Pat opened his mouth to reply but the Captain butted in. “Excuse me, did I hear that right? Since when were you two such bosom buddies, or on the _ Facebook _come to think of it? Don’t tell me you go in for all of that, Patrick?” He questioned, utterly perplexed.

Rosie laughed at him. “It’s not our fault you refuse to get with the times,” she said, nudging Pat with a grin. “Listen ‘him, I think he’s jealous.”

Taking the bait, the Captain huffed and stomped his foot stubbornly on the kitchen tiles. “I have zero interest in sharing what I had for breakfast with the whole world, thank you _ very _much. People filling the space just for the sake of it.” He sniffed and quietened, and Pat made a mental note that he did indeed seem jealous. It was certainly a new emotion on him that he had never seen before, one he’d think on further when he wasn’t halfway down a glass of red.

“Anyway,” Pat proceeded slowly, still eyeing the Captain dubiously for a moment before he looked back to Rosie. “Daley’s with me tomorrow morning so we can open presents and everything, which I’m really excited for, but he’s with Carol and Morris the rest of the day. Besides that I don’t really have anything on. It is what it is, I suppose.” He wore a brave smile, determined to heed the Captain’s words and not be glum despite the situation giving him scarcely any reason to.

Rosie wouldn’t hear of it, not for a second. “Well in that case, why don’t you come ‘round here for Christmas dinner? There’ll be enough food, I can promise you. Better than being holed up alone.” She raised a glass to him and smiled. “Have your quality time with Daley and then Ronnie will come and get you, won’t you Ron?” She asked, not giving her brother the room to argue. “No need to worry about driving, then. Stay as long as you like.”

The familiar feeling of being a spare part, a nuisance and a bother, reared its ugly head. Pat shifted on the spot. “I don’t know,” he said, unsure. He wanted to reject the offer gently, rather than throwing it in her face. 

“Give the man a chance to answer before you make choices for him,” the Captain reprimanded, lowering his voice and glowering at her. “It’s _ his _Christmas, Rosie.” 

“I don’t want to get in the way. Christmas is for family,” Pat explained, even though the prospect of a full home and a full belly sounded heavenly compared to how he’d otherwise be spending the majority of the day. It just wasn’t exactly the family he had in mind, when it came down to it.

Rosie hushed him. “Don’t be so daft,” she reassured. “I’m inviting you and it would be lovely to have an extra face at the table. I’m sure Ronnie would like other conversation besides me anyway. You’re a _ friend, _and that’s just like family. It is to me, anyway.”

Pat’s chest heaved a bit. He did his best to blink back moisture in his eyes. He appreciated the offer, truly he did, but he couldn’t help but feel pitied when all was said and done. It wasn’t how his first Christmas as a dad was ever supposed to be, and definitely not at all how he’d imagined it would go. He should have been at home with Carol and Daley, but someone else had taken his place and he was left making do with the situation as best he could. A few hours on Christmas morning was all he was being afforded, and a Christmas dinner with someone else’s family entirely was the only family Christmas he would get.

Blinking did nothing, in the end. A few tears fell.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to say no,” Pat said quickly. He pushed between the pair and fled the room. “I’m sorry,” he uttered again as he went.

He wasn’t there to see the Captain tell Rosie off for hounding him before he hurried out of the kitchen himself, scouring the clusters of people in the living room for his friend.

Pat had hidden himself on the stairs, watching people talk and laugh. Even though a medley of festive love songs did nothing to soothe the ache in his chest, his fingers still tapped absently at the wooden banister as the music carried through the house. 

“Bloody Mariah Carey,” he muttered, ceasing the movement and clutching his glass with both hands instead.

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, you know,” the Captain commented from above him before he swung himself down to sit beside the other man. He groaned a bit at the movement but quickly settled. There was little space for two grown men to sit side by side on a narrow staircase, and so their thighs touched.

Pat didn’t turn his head. “Must be, then,” he conceded quietly. “Must have been to not notice what was going on under my nose with Carol and Morris.” He took a sip of wine, hoping its flavour would wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. He was decidedly not in the Christmas spirit. He should have cancelled like he fretted that he ought to.

The Captain nudged his side to get his attention and when finally Pat gave in and looked his way with damp eyes, he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Shall we get out of here before anyone notices? Especially Rosie and Aunt Elaine.”

Sniffing, Pat wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his red jumper pulled over his hand. “Can we?” He asked. 

Springing to action, the Captain nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, and then he was taking Pat’s free hand in his and pulling him away from the stairs. Their wine sloshed up the sides of their glasses as they ducked around the corner to the back door, away from prying eyes where the Captain could quickly unlock the door for them to slip out into the night. 

Behind Rosie’s house were fields, as far as the eye could see. A path cut through them all and the fences that lined either side of it were wrapped with fairy lights that lit the way for the pair. Some of the nearby trees were trimmed in an endearingly haphazard way too, making the often bleak darkness of the countryside much more appealing and magical.

Pat’s breath came fast as they slowed their run to a walk and he was acutely aware of his hand still encased by the Captain’s. It was definitely welcome as they made their way along the path, a warm point of contact against the frigid winter air. He sipped at his wine and let that add to the pleasant tingle spreading throughout him. They walked for a while in silence until the Captain eventually slowed further, to a bench sitting at the edge of the gravel.

“Let’s sit here,” he said, pulling Pat’s arm to beckon him down too.

Pat noticed a plaque on the bench’s back but he couldn’t read it in the low light. He took a seat next to the Captain and tried not to feel the loss of the hand around his. “I wonder who the bench was for?” He asked. 

The Captain hummed. “I can answer you that, actually,” he said. “It was for my mother. She loved it out here, so Rosie and I wanted to dedicate something in her favourite spot when she passed.”

Pat sat quietly and watched the Captain’s breath cascade upwards in white tendrils as he spoke. The cold was already cutting through his jumper so the Captain must have felt it as well. They were both a bit too old to foolishly run out without coats on but still, it beat the sudden suffocating atmosphere of the party and the defeated weight in his chest. He’d had colder nights on camping trips when he thought about it.

“I bet it’s nicer in the day,” Pat said. “I love the country.”

“Yes, it’s a lovely view. She’d walk Rosie and I down here all the time in the Summer when I came to visit for the holidays, and in the winter when it snowed, we’d build a snowman in the field just over there,” he said, stretching an arm and pointing with his glass. “They’re some of my happiest memories.”

“When you’d visit?” Pat asked curiously. “I know you went to boarding school, but didn’t you live with them at home the rest of the time?” 

Shaking his head, the Captain answered, “No. I wish, but no. Rosie was born after my mother and father divorced. She moved here and remarried. But still, I always say my childhood was formed by the fresh air and stone walls and not the lonely halls of city boarding school.”

Pat understood then. “Is that why you came here, after you were discharged?”

“Yes,” the Captain said. “I needed that sense of home.” 

The smaller man hung his head and stared into his almost-empty drink. “I know the feeling,” he said quietly. “My flat doesn’t feel like home. I don’t think it ever will. Even when I have Daley for a few nights a week, it’s not the same.” He necked the last dregs of his wine and sighed. “It’s just not how I thought I’d start a family, you know? I thought we’d all be together. Carol still gets to play happy families though, doesn’t she? Morris gets everything I don’t.” He’d promised he’d find forgiveness, but when he was literally out in the cold mourning the family life he’d had taken from him, it was hard to hold onto that promise. All he wanted to feel was anything other than _ loss_. 

“I’m truly sorry for that,” the Captain said. “Lord knows, I don’t have the words to make it better. I’m rather terrible at this kind of thing. I shouldn’t have, _ ah_, tried to do the “stiff upper lip” routine with you earlier, though. Not just because it backfired, but because you should....talk. About these things. If you need to. Which you quite clearly do.”

Pat laughed toward the sky, wiping his eyes again. “Because I’m a mess, you mean? Charming.”

The Captain tutted again, just like he had in the kitchen, but this time Pat didn’t get a brush to the shoulder but rather a full arm wrapped around them. There they sat together on the bench, in the cold as lights twinkled around them, and the Captain rubbed his arm and pulled him in to his side. Tears dribbled down Pat’s cheeks as he leaned heavily into the embrace, both hands still clutching an empty glass in his lap. If the hand earlier was an added warmth, then the Captain pressed to him in such a way was triply so.

“Mess is part of it, when life goes off-track,” the Captain’s voice rumbled beneath Pat’s cheek. “Rosie told you as much about when I came home. I know it’s not the same - I haven’t lost someone I married and I’m not a single parent - but I was lonely and hurting and I wallowed until I couldn’t anymore. A bit of wallowing is good, gets it out of your system, but I needed someone to pick me up when it was going too far. I worry, Pat,” he admitted, still clutching Pat’s arm tightly. “I worry that you won’t let someone do that for you and right now, I think that’s exactly what you need.”

Pat sniffed and attempted to look up from his spot against the Captain’s chest. All he saw was a blur of his jumper and his chin. “Are you offering?” The laughter it drew out of the other man, deep and easy, felt glorious where he was nestled. 

“I thought I’d made that bit rather obvious,” he said. “Listen to me. If I can handle coming out at forty, losing my career and sustaining an annoying and painful injury, I’m sure you can navigate everything being thrown at you and I am quite sure you’ll have that happy family life you so dearly want. Maybe not now, but one day, and it will all work itself out. And, just in case you’ve lost sleep over worrying about how all this will affect him when he grows up, I promise you that Daley will be alright. He has three parents who love him very much, which is one more than I had and I still turned out just fine. So did Rosie.”

Caught off-guard by the genuine heart of the words, he was glad the older man didn’t see his face crumple up. “I have worried about it. I worry all the time. I want to give him the best I can, but I just hate feeling like a burden on everyone. I think you’re right, though. I can’t do this on my own, Ronnie. It’s too much.” The dam of his burst then after months of being precariously fragile. He could only thank the moon and stars they were under that someone was there to catch him. 

That someone gently eased the glass out of Pat’s hand and set it down on the gravel with his own, and then his other arm joined the first in encircling Pat’s smaller frame. 

“It’s alright,” the Captain murmured. “I will say here and now that you’re far from a burden. In fact, you’ve given this old goat quite a lot in the few months I’ve known you. Helping me find my job is only a small part of that.”

Pat swatted his back before wrapping his arms around the Captain, finally returning the embrace. “Oi! Less of the old. I’ll be catching you up soon enough,” he said, already sounding brighter than he had before. “I’m glad to hear it though. Maybe we’ve both helped each other, ‘ey?” 

“I think so,” the Captain agreed softly, watching the Christmas lights glow back at the house far down the other end of the path they had taken. “I do think you should come tomorrow, you know.”

He sat up reluctantly and eyed the Captain warily. “You do?”

“Rosie was quite right; I’d like the company. Besides, you said yourself that we’ve helped each other. It would be nice to share the day with you, if you’re amenable of course. I can’t force your arm and I shan’t try to.”

Pat stared for a moment more before he broke into a toothy smile, cheeks rounded and shiny. He rolled his eyes. “Go on, then. Consider it twisted.”

  
  
  


When they returned to the warm respite of the home, the Captain poured them both a brandy instead. Pat hoped his eyes weren’t red-rimmed from crying as they braved the guests together but if they were, nobody questioned him on it, not even Aunt Elaine. The latter half of the party was much more hopeful than the first and Pat, in the middle of one of Elaine’s tangents, silently met the Captain’s eyes and didn’t bother fighting back a smile. 

Christmas didn’t have to be another loss to endure, after all. 

He would be okay.

  
  
  


That’s why, with that very thought in mind, Pat packed his gifts into his little silver Volvo the following morning: Christmas day. He put Daley safely into his car seat, wrapped in a little festive jumper and a thick crocheted blanket, and had Mariah Carey playing as they drove along the picturesque Yorkshire roads. When his fingers tapped to the song, he didn’t stop them from doing so.

“We can have a family Christmas too, can’t we son? Even if it’s just for the morning.” He smiled down Daley when they stopped at a red light. “You’re going to love my friends. They can’t wait to meet you.”

Daley gurgled happily from his car seat and miraculously, beyond the cosy confines of the car, it began to snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two coming tomorrow (Christmas Day 2019).


	6. Part Of Your Symphony (Christmas: Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I haven't really been doing notes thus far, but it's a new year and this chapter is incredibly late, so I figured I would pop in here very quickly! First to say apologies for getting the second part of Christmas up halfway into January, and second to say how grateful I am that you've all stuck with me so far. We're 30k in now, can you believe it!? To everyone who waits with bated breath for updates, who urges me on, to friends and strangers alike who have taken this story and its characters into their hearts: you keep me going. It means the world. Enjoy this 9.4k update - you've earned it!

By the time Pat pulled up to the Ackerman’s home, the light flurries of snow had begun to worsen. He scrambled from the car and hurried to get Daley from his seat to his pram and then up to the front door before they were both completely covered just as rapidly as the ground was. Despite his hastiness, some still clung to his hair and coat, glistening in the pale morning sun.

“I can’t ever remember having a white Christmas,” Pat said to Daley after he knocked on the door. “Doesn’t happen nowadays, but it’s your first Christmas in the world and it’s snowing. Aren’t you lucky, ‘ey?” He smiled down at his son and stroked his cheek. 

Rosie opened the door a second later and her eyes lit up.

“Pat!” She said, clasping her hands together in joy. “And Daley too! Ooh, let’s get you in before you bloody freeze.” She lifted the front of the stroller up over the doorstep and Pat closed the door behind them.

“He’s gorgeous,” Rosie continued, smitten, cooing down to the swaddled bundle in his pram. Daley blinked back up at her sleepily as he sucked his pacifier. “Good as gold too, by the looks.”

“Slept the whole way here,” Pat said proudly, beaming. He wasted no time in shucking off his damp coat, hooking it on a spare peg. He’d opted only for a navy button-up underneath, wanting to make the effort after he’d spent the previous evening in the tackiest jumper he could find, but it left him shivering and he rubbed his hands together as the warmth of the house slowly soothed his chilled skin. When he breathed in deep, he found the hallway already flooded with the smell of dinner being prepared. He was suddenly all-at-once glad he’d taken the Ackermans up on their offer of Christmas day with them.

When he listened closely, Pat swore he heard the faint sound of singing underneath the radio that drifted from the kitchen. He smiled in the kitchen’s direction, hoping for a glimpse of his friend who hadn’t so much as popped his head around to say hello. 

He instantly regretted it with Rosie’s keen eyes on him.

“I’ll pop the kettle on and let Ronnie know you’re here,” she said knowingly. “He’s up to his eyes in it; probably didn’t even hear you get here. He makes dinner and I do the pudding - which I make the day before so I can put my feet up Christmas day. It’s tradition.” 

Pat silently berated himself for being so obvious but the last bit pulled a genuine chuckle from him. “Tradition, right. I take it he’s a good chef then?” 

“He’ll do, I suppose,” Rosie agreed before she turned toward the kitchen herself. “Take Daley through, Pat, you’re alright. I’ll bring you some tea, how’s that?”

“Lovely, ta,” Pat said gratefully.

He settled Daley in his stroller in the small nook between one sofa and the next, rocking it slowly back and forth and hoping his eyes would slip shut again. He could sleep for a while longer until he woke up for a feed but Daley, keen to take in his new surroundings with wide, blue eyes, did not seem to want to doze off. So Pat stroked his downy blonde hair absently and let his thoughts drift.

As far as feeling like a spare part went, Pat didn’t one bit. The Ackerman’s home was cosy and inviting, garland strung across the fireplace and cards above the hearth, and he found it hard to feel unwanted when he was so warmly welcomed. The lights glowed gold on the Christmas tree, music continued to trickle in from the kitchen, and all he could feel was content. It wasn’t the family Christmas he had planned to have when he had children one day, no spouse at his side to share it with, but it _ was _ a family Christmas nonetheless and it was more than he thought he’d get that year. He could take that, quite happily.

He sat at the edge of his seat, still stroking his son’s hair softly, and that’s when he heard the Captain enter the room quietly, the brush of his trousers giving him away as his socked feet landed only on soft carpet.

“Is he asleep?” He whispered. 

“Nah, I’m trying to get him to drift off,” Pat answered, twisting on the sofa to throw him a smile. The older man looked apprehensive, unsure, stood on the spot like he was deciding whether to get closer. So Pat made the choice for him, beckoning him over with his head. “It’s okay. Come and say hello.”

The Captain obliged, albeit slowly. Pat watched him approach with a look of wonder on his face and when his eyes finally landed on Daley, he swallowed before the corner of his mouth quirked up in an amazed half-smile. 

“He’s...extraordinary,” the Captain breathed. He’d seen photos of course, many sent over text in the months he and Pat had known each other, but nothing could have prepared him for just how small and fragile and impossibly lovely the little boy was in person. His heart was positively in his mouth.

Pat was beside himself with happiness, torn between sharing the Captain’s gaze and watching his friend and the unending soft look in his eyes. “He’ll hold your finger if you put it by his hand,” he said encouragingly. 

The Captain met his eyes, unsure again. “He will? I should wash my hands again first surely, just to be safe.” 

“It’s alright,” Pat insisted, waving off his worry with a soft laugh. “Go on.” 

“Right, okay,” he nodded, before he reached out. 

Pat watched with bated breath as the Captain ran a gentle finger over Daley’s dainty knuckles. His small hand unclenched from a fist and like magic, when the Captain offered his pinky out, Daley closed his fingers around it tightly. Air caught audibly in the Captain’s throat and all he could do was stare.

Pat’s heart skipped. He felt like he should savour the moment, capture it somehow, but he decided it would be unnatural to break such a tender scene with an intrusive photo and so he settled for simply taking it in, every second making it harder to breathe.

“Incredible,” the Captain said, awed. He moved up and down gently, shaking Daley’s little hand. “Splendid to finally meet you, Daley,” he said, feigning formality and catching Pat’s smile at him with quick eyes. “You should be sleeping, shouldn’t you? Oh, but how could you when it’s Christmas _ and _ it’s snowing? Your daddy is very unreasonable, isn’t he?” 

Daley made a soft sound behind his pacifier, as if in approval.

The Captain’s face brightened further. “Yes, yes, I quite agree.” He caught Pat’s eye again and this time let his gaze linger, easy and fond, a blanket of peace over them as wondrous as the snow blanketing the world beyond the windows. 

Pat could only gaze back, brain stuck on thoughts of, _ This feels too good, too right, _ and _ You mustn’t get used to it because it’s not what you think it is, Pat. _Even so, his disappointment far outweighed relief when Rosie wandered in with two mugs of tea, genuine and unassuming as she beamed their way. 

“Is he asleep?” She asked quietly, echoing her brother.

“He’s remarkable,” the Captain breathed as though it answered her question, his eyes back on Daley and refusing to move away. 

Pat accepted his tea gratefully. “He didn’t want to go back to sleep and now I think he’s a bit preoccupied,” he said, and even for Pat’s warm and often overly-friendly standards, his voice was syrupy with fondness. 

Rosie tutted. “Ronnie, leave the little mite to get some rest. Have your tea,” she insisted, nudging his arm to get him to take the proffered steaming mug. “Then you can get back to making dinner, we don’t want you slacking too much.”

“Yes, Captain,” the man mocked with a salute. He gently eased his pinky from Daley’s and shifted so he could sit beside Pat and if he sat too close, so close that their thighs almost touched like they had on the staircase the previous evening, then Pat didn’t move away.

Not amused, Rosie stuck her tongue out before she made to take her leave. “I’m off to get the girls up. Hannah knows to be quiet around Hollie so Daley shouldn’t be too bothered by her, Pat.”

Pat said, “Oh, it’s alright. She’s only little. She’ll be excited for Christmas won’t she?” It wasn’t as if Daley was a light sleeper; once he was out, he was out for the count. He hadn’t been joking when he’d mentioned it before. 

“That she will!” Rosie called over her shoulder.

“I’m so happy you’ve finally met him,” Pat said in a giddy rush as soon as Rosie was out of earshot. He couldn’t have been more chuffed that the Captain had taken such an instant shine to Daley, even though he’d not been too worried in the first place after he’d seen how natural he was with his nieces. 

He supposed, even given the Captain’s biased affection for his family, the Captain did have this air of distance to him. For all the moments they had shared, the windows into what lay beneath his stoic surface, Pat knew he still kept himself carefully barricaded. He knew little of his time in service, and not much more about his coming out or the loves he’d had - or lack thereof. They texted so often, saw each other at work, were spending Christmas together of all things, and yet Pat still always felt he was just ever so slightly out of reach.

The Captain smiled from behind his raised mug. “You never said you were bringing him. It was a lovely surprise,” he said.

Pat nodded. “Yeah, well, you were right last night,” he said softly. He had debated heavily whether to delicately raise the subject of the previous evening’s heart-to-heart, worrying over whether bring about a reminder of the way the Captain had held him on the bench against the cold as he cried. In the end he decided it would be more unnatural to pretend it never happened, and he was loathe to go against the very message his friend had tried to drum into him - that he should talk, and that the Captain was there to listen. 

“I’m rarely wrong,” the Captain agreed, and though his tone was clearly joking, the look in his eyes betrayed something far more astute and sensitive. Pat wondered if he was thinking about holding him, too, wishful thinking but present nonetheless. “I really am glad you saw sense and came, and it’s lovely to finally meet your son. You should be very proud; he’s really something.” 

Pat smiled, unable to help himself. “You really think so?” His cheeks flushed.

“Rarely wrong, remember?”

“Oh, ‘course, yeah.”

They lapsed into silence, drinking their tea, and Pat thought about how the Captain had said they’d help each other. How he’d grabbed his hand, how they had run through the house like mischievous children, how neither of them had let go as they strolled on a path guided by fairy lights under a milky winter moon. He wondered how he could truly blame himself for getting sentimental, for his heart skipping a beat, when they had those slivers of instances where they acted as though there was something _ more _. For the briefest pockets of time, yes, and only for as long as he could hold his breath, but they still happened. Pat didn’t dare ask himself just how long he’d be willing to hold his breath for, just for a handful more moments like them.

_ \-- Are you offering? _

** _\-- I thought I’d made that bit rather obvious._ **

He was happy, more than anything, to feel something for someone again when there was a time where he didn’t know how long it would be until he did, or if he _ would. _The Captain was proof that he still had the capacity to care for someone and be cared for in return. The previous evening, he had thought about wanting to feel anything other than loss. When he was with the Captain, that want became reality. He wasn’t sure if it was budding love or a crush after so much pain and he knew at some point he’d need to face it, but right then and there he was content to feel it and see where it went.

Perhaps it was so that Pat’s heart was being pulled along for the ride and that, in the end, it could surely only cause either elation or heartbreak. He had hope in the back of his mind that he had enough good sense to stop it before it got to the point of no return.

“Are you alright?” The Captain asked, his concern cutting through Pat’s haze.

His head snapped up, eyes meeting his. “Fine, yeah,” he said, feeling caught.

The Captain squinted, unconvinced. “You were miles away,” he said. “I hope you’re not feeling out of place.”

Pat softened, his smile sincere. “Nah, nothing like that, just thinking about things. I really am happy I decided to come. Really happy.”

Their gazes held and then the Captain’s concern relented, satisfied with Pat’s answer. He smiled first at Pat, then briefly over to his son, sound asleep in his stroller beside them. 

“So am I,” he murmured, and when he brought his eyes back to meet Pat’s, there was something indescribable to the glaze of his irises. “Thank you.”

There it was, another moment just like so many others. Pat was entranced by his low voice, velvet and smooth and air-whip soft. When the Captain spoke like that, at him and _ for _ him, he became boneless. The Captain thanked him and Pat didn’t even know why or what for, yet his heart squeezed all the same, answering a call the Captain had yet to voice aloud but Pat so desperately hoped one day soon he would.

In a fashion only a child could achieve, it was over in an instant as Hannah stormed into the room like a force of nature, followed closely by Hollie in Rosie’s arms. The Captain and Pat put distance between themselves almost instantly, turning brightly to the new faces as if they hadn’t been caught up in each other only a moment before.

“Uncle Ronnie, it’s Christmas!” Hannah exclaimed excitedly, jumping onto his lap for a hug and almost knocking his mug of tea straight from his hand. Her pigtails whipped Pat sharply in the face, causing him to sit back and blink.

The Captain could only stare at him over her shoulder and mouth, “Sorry,” with barely concealed amusement before he enveloped his niece in a one-armed hug.

Rosie, who was busy getting Hollie ready for a feed on the other sofa, said, “Hannah, we said baby volume, remember? Daley is asleep right there, that’s Pat’s son.” She pointed to the pram and the dozing baby inside it.

Rosie gasped and lowered her voice immediately. “Like Hollie?” 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” the Captain said, squeezing her tight, “but he’s a lot smaller. Would you like to say hello to him later, once he’s awake? You shall have to ask Pat, of course.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her hair whipping around again, and then she turned to Pat with a huge smile. “Can I?” She asked him, moon-eyed. 

Pat smiled at the little girl, heart full. “‘Course you can, yeah,” he said. 

“Uncle Ronnie, can we give Pat his present from Santa?” 

That made Pat’s eyes widen. His jaw dropped a bit and he looked nervously between Rosie and the Captain. “Oh, you didn’t, did you?” He looked at Rosie’s little expectant and excited face. “I mean, _ Father Christmas _didn’t, did he?” He corrected, though still nervously glancing back to the adults in the room. “Only I didn’t know we were doing gifts. I didn’t bring anything with me.”

Rosie smiled behind her own mug of tea. “It’s just a bit of something for Daley. Couldn’t leave him out this time of year, could we?” 

At that, Pat exhaled in relief. “Oh, well, that’s really kind of you.”

Hannah bounced excitedly where she sat, eager to show off whatever it is they had so sweetly gotten for his son. “Can we, can we, can we?” She asked.

The Captain hugged her once more before releasing her. “Fetch it from under the tree, then,” he said with a nod. “I’m sure Pat will love the very neat wrapping you did. Worthy of Santa’s workshop itself.” 

The little girl clambered down and almost tripped over herself to retrieve the small, square gift from under the tree. When she held it out to Pat in both hands, her wide smile was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. 

“Thank you,” he told her, accepting it gratefully, and a cursory glance back at Rosie and the Captain revealed equally soft looks from them both, though the Captain’s was also much more...expectant, intent. It made his neck warm.

The gift itself was wrapped endearingly haphazardly, the paper slightly scrunched with far too much tape, its sparkly red bow off-centre and uneven. Clearly Hannah had had a little guidance with that last bit, but it was still wonderfully honest and charming and Pat’s heart swelled. 

“Open it!” Hannah said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

So he did, and moisture instantly sprung to his eyes. 

Inside the little cardboard box, neatly pressed and folded, was a Scout uniform that mirrored his own in every detail except size. It even had a tiny striped necker and matching socks. Pat could barely contain his reaction, a hand flying to cover his mouth as his nose stung from the effort of holding back tears.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” he whispered, eyes meeting Rosie’s. 

She seemed utterly delighted. “I’d love to take the credit, but it was all Ronnie’s doing.” She glanced at Hannah and smoothly added, “He and Father Christmas worked very hard to get it just right.” 

“That’s right,” the Captain said.

Pat looked at him then, braving it despite how oddly vulnerable he felt in that moment. He’d cried in the Captain’s arms only the night prior, but he supposed emotions were funny old things and were hardly ever rational. The Captain had all the good grace of looking exactly as pleased as he expected, not quite smug but clearly satisfied with himself. 

“Thank you,” Pat said quietly. He’d let the man enjoy the small triumph.

The Captain’s mouth turned up a smidgen more. “You’re very welcome,” he said, and there was that unidentifiable glaze back to his eyes, glinting softly.

Daley began to stir then, making soft and grizzly sounds. Pat’s attention was immediately shifted, head turning toward the direction of his stroller.

“Shall we see go and say Merry Christmas to your friend across the road before we open our presents?” Rosie asked on cue, finishing up Hollie’s feed and setting her in a carry seat, tucking in a blanket around her and pulling a knitted hat onto her head.

Hannah looked disappointed, pouting. “But I want to see the baby,” she said petulantly, her eyes turning watery for a moment.

“Pat has to feed him now, sweetheart, just like I did with Hollie. He’ll be a grumpy baby if not and we don’t want to upset him, do we?” Rosie asked softly, tucking a few strands of hair behind her daughter’s ears before taking her hand. “Come on, I’m sure Daley will be happy to see you in a bit before he goes home.” Over her shoulder, she said, “Honestly, Christmas day and she’s more excited to see another baby than to open her presents. Kids, eh?”

“Is Uncle Ronnie’s dinner done yet?” Hannah asked impatiently as Rosie led her out of the living room.

“Uncle Ronnie is still finishing his tea,” the Captain answered from his seat.

Hannah turned and stuck her tongue out which the Captain instantly returned, causing the little girl to giggle and cling to her mother’s hand with both of hers as they left.

Pat had already risen to check on his son, his amused smile at their shared petulance hidden with his back turned. He plucked out a muslin cloth and a ready-made bottle of formula from his baby bag, setting them on the sofa, and Pat didn’t miss how the Captain’s eyes followed him as he sat quiet, watching from behind his mug with what he only recognised as affection tightly wrapped in intrigue.

He lifted his little boy carefully into his arms, then.

“Hello, you,” Pat greeted warmly, holding the disgruntled baby to his chest. Daley made a few cries and Pat shushed him gently, rocking him as he pressed his lips pressed to the top of his head. “Let’s get you fed, shall we? I know, I know,” he soothed.

He lowered himself back to his spot beside the Captain, settling Daley in the crook of his arm where he swapped his pacifier for his bottle. 

It was a time Pat had treasured since the very first time he’d gotten to feed him. He’d never known peace like it, had found nothing else comparable to the inner fulfilment he felt with his baby in his arms, content and happy as he steadily drank and his tiny eyelids drooped. The love that flooded him in those brief and perfect moments was innate and so incredibly special, and Pat never wanted them to end. 

“There we go. That’s better, isn't it?” He asked, stroking the back of his head with a thumb where he cradled it.

Beside him, Pat felt the sofa shift. 

A moment later, the Captain whispered, “I’d better get back to the dinner. I’ll leave you in peace, before the girls get back.” As he got up to take his leave, he let a hand grasp Pat’s shoulder and linger there, squeezing softly.

Pat’s gaze followed him as he retreated to the kitchen, a smile on his lips.

  
  
  
  


Soon enough, Daley was back down for another sleep, and quickly after the girls returned and Hannah was in much more of a rush to get to her presents, all distractions out of mind. 

Pat was just glad she was past the age of annoying toys that lit up and made noise. He chuckled softly when the Captain leaned in and said as much in his ear.

Dinner was nothing short of a miracle, at least in Pat’s eyes. He savoured every bite, certain he had never had homemade food that had gone quite so quickly to his heart and warmed his soul. He smiled across the table at the chef he had to thank, his nerves a pleasant hum for once.

“I don’t know where on earth you learned to cook like that but that was amazing,” he gushed. Had he been at home, he’d have definitely mopped his plate with a slice of crusty bread, but he behaved and declined to ask, instead shoving his glasses up his face. “You’ve a tough job on following it up with dessert, that’s all I’ll say,” he said, grinning at Rosie in turn.

He felt a swoop in his stomach when the Captain gave his sister a triumphant smile, drumming his hands on the table. “Aha!” He crowed. “It seems victory is practically already mine. I did warn you.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Every year,” she said to Pat.

The Captain only continued to gloat. “And every year, I _ win_.” 

With the atmosphere saturated in easy familiarity and warmth, Pat would have been quite content to sit there for hours, but the Captain caught his eye.

“How about a walk, hm? Some fresh air after Christmas dinner is a tradition of mine and you’re welcome to join me. Rosie is strictly against it, mind.” 

Rosie was already up, clearing their plates. “As long as you’ve got room for dessert when you get back, you can please yourselves,” she said. “But as I said to you, Pat, Christmas is all about putting my feet up as much as I can and I’ve got about five minutes until a good film starts. Should keep Hannah occupied, and I’ll keep a close eye on the little ones, don’t you worry.”

Pat hesitated. “What if Carol shows up early, for Daley?” He worried.

Smiling, Rosie said, “Ronnie won’t go far. I’ll call you if she comes, I promise.”

The Captain hummed, satisfied with the conclusion. “That’s sorted then,” he said to Pat. “Come on. I think it’s stopped snowing.”

  
  
  
  


It had not in fact stopped snowing, but the flurry was gentle enough that it didn’t leave them all that much sodden but rather added a few feather-light flecks to their coats and hair. Even so, Pat zipped his coat firmly all the way to the top as they trudged together down the gravel path, taking an extra step to match the Captain’s larger strides.

It all looked so different in the daylight, no fairy lights needed to guide the way. Pat missed them, actually, but the snow was a nice touch even if his hands had already started to chill with the frost. He shoved them in his pockets and glanced at the Captain, who of course was carefully pulling on a pair of country tweed gloves.

“The view’s a lot better this time ‘round,” Pat said simply, turning his neck again to admire the long stretches of fields and farmland covered in white. It looked like a scene right off a Christmas card and it put a little spring in his step; he had always loved that time of year.

The Captain gave him a charmed smile. “It is, isn’t it? You seem in much higher spirits, too. I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” He asked. 

Pat nodded. “Yeah, I am. It’s been really nice,” he said. “And dinner was really _ amazing._” He was still stuck on that, he supposed. One of the quickest ways to his heart was with something delicious, and the Captain could hardly judge him with his not-so-secret sweet tooth so he had no issue expressing his appreciation.

“I could give you my secrets, but then I’d have to kill you,” the Captain said solemnly, tilting his head in Pat’s direction with raised eyebrows. 

“Damn,” Pat said, feigning disappointment. “Maybe you’ll just have to cook _ for _me instead, then. Keep your secrets, but I still reap the benefits.” With wide eyes immediately after, he realised he couldn’t even blame the suggestion on having wine with dinner since he’d elected to not have any, needing to drive himself home afterwards. His stomach did an impressive somersault but the Captain laughed, rich and deep, and seemed unperturbed. 

“Ah, I see how it is. Using me for my culinary talents. What’s in this for me, may I ask, besides one extra person to cook for?” He seemed thoroughly amused, eyes dancing when they looked Pat’s way. “What’s on offer, hm?”

Pat grinned, deeply enjoying the unlearned yet utterly natural shift into teasing repartee. “My company, obviously. What more do you need?” He bit his tongue against answering with, _ “Me. I’m on offer.” _ He didn’t want to push it, to knock their balance.

The Captain shook his head even as his shoulders continued to shake with laughter. “Honestly. The audacity,” he said, mock-scandalised. 

“I know,” Pat agreed. “Completely terrible.”

“Awful.”

They shared another look and then laughed some more, and all the while the snow swirled and cascaded down, the moment entirely theirs in its simplicity. 

“Perhaps, if you’re not tied down to any plans tomorrow, I could bring some leftovers through. Perfect answer to any Boxing Day. Unless you’re sick of the sight of this old walrus,” the Captain said. “I’d hardly blame you.”

Pat was ecstatic at the thought, doubly so at getting extra helpings of the Captain’s cooking. He grinned unabashedly, snow on his eyelashes and cheeks rosy red. “Don’t be daft. I’d like that,” he said, and even though the cold air stole half of his breath, he hastily added in a rush, “I mean, you could come back with me tonight, if you like. I’ve nothing on.” His face stung with heat immediately, the blood rushing to them doing nothing to aid their shade.

The Captain wasn’t surprised, didn’t gape or raise his eyebrows. He simply looked knowingly. “You don’t fancy an empty flat after today, especially with Daley being picked up soon; rather a sad ending to an otherwise good Christmas. It’s alright. No need to beat around the bush.”

He’d hit the nail on the head if Pat’s fast aversion of his gaze was anything to go by. The younger man watched his boots as they hit the gravel and kicked it up and he tried hard not to feel exposed. The chill cut straight through his layers to the bone and inside his pockets, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Sorry,” the Captain said, much softer, apparently just as keen to avoid tipping the balance unfavourably. “That wasn’t very tactful of me, was it?”

Pat shrugged. “Right, though.”

Still, the older man cleared his throat. “I meant no offence, I just hate dillying most of the time. If you’d like me to stay so you feel less alone, then I shall. As I said before: help is at hand if you need it.”

“When my chips are down?” Pat supplied. It seemed like something he would say and it melted the frown from his face

“Precisely,” the Captain encouraged. He nudged Pat, bumping his arm against the smaller man’s shoulder. “Besides, the leftovers will perk you right up again and it has been a fair old while since I’ve had a sleepover. One might argue we’re a little long in the tooth, but I am capable of breaking the norm.”

Pat couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Didn’t peg you as a rule-breaker, Ronnie.”

He was met with a perfectly arched brow. “You’d be surprised.”

When the Captain’s phone rang a moment later, the balance finally tipped and sharply so at that. They locked eyes in a knowing pause, both aware of the call’s meaning. 

Pat knew his face had fallen, apple of his cheeks sunken in disappointment. He’d hoped for just a while longer of his version of a family Christmas, to stay in their bubble and be happy. He still hadn’t figured out how to not feel heartbroken every time he handed Daley over, and he wondered if he ever would.

The Captain, of course, couldn’t dither for long. He did something unexpected when he raised his phone to his ear, however. He crooked his arm as a wordless offering and beckoned at Pat with a small inclination of his head, leaving little room for Pat to doubt his intention.

He only mulled it over for a nanosecond before he pulled his hands from his pockets in favour of sliding an arm through the Captain’s, locking them close. He hadn’t a clue how the Captain had known just what he needed - a connection, however small, to keep him grounded as his heart was squeezed painfully - but it was enough to get his legs to carry him back to the house where Carol would be waiting for him.

“Yes, we’re on our way,” the Captain said down the line. 

Pat heard, but he was much busier concentrating on the warmth of the other man and how it was the second time in as many days that they had trodden the same path whilst joined in some way. It wasn’t the same as their bare fingers interlocked but it was equally as thrilling, sending his pulse into a frenzy. The chill in his body thawed, warmed from the inside out, and when he brought another hand up to link the one already there, he could have died on the spot at the relaxed and easy smile the Captain fixed him with.

In the span of a few months, Pat had gone from seemingly always following the man one step behind, to walking _ with _ him. He didn’t quite know what it meant for them both, whether it spelt out a future of friendship or more or if he should even wish for one at all. He only hoped the Captain wouldn’t leave him behind.

They parted only just before they stepped into the house. 

“Alright?” The Captain checked, a hand stilled on Pat’s arm. 

Pat nodded bravely. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s go in.” 

  
  
  
  


“Sorry I didn’t text first,” Carol said when Pat entered the living room with the Captain in tow, her eyes darting from her ex-husband to the mysterious new acquaintance she had yet to meet for herself. Her expression flickered briefly as she took in the other man and then she smiled from her place on the sofa, her hand in Daley’s stroller with her fingers brushing his knuckles. 

Pat was hit with the memory of the Captain doing exactly the same only a few hours before. He blinked and pushed it away. 

“You know how it is,” Carol continued. “It’s been a mad house this morning and I just didn’t think, but I’m here now, so.”

Pat was just relieved Morris wasn’t with her. He could see the empty car parked outside through the living room window. It was hard enough adjusting to sharing his son fifty-fifty without Morris there to rub his nose in it. The man had barely said two words to him, yet there had been a growing smugness each time he had dropped Daley off in the last few months and it sat oddly with him.

He plastered on his own smile. “That’s okay, don’t worry. He’s not been changed but he’s had a feed and a good sleep,” he said, filling Carol in on their son’s morning. 

It was then that Rosie popped her head around the door, Hollie in her arms. “Oh, he’s been an absolute angel. Unlike this one who absolutely won’t go down for a nap,” she said, bouncing her daughter in her arms and smiling even if her tone betrayed just a slight frustration. 

“I’ll take her,” the Captain said smoothly, arms already outstretched to take his niece and give Rosie a break. When she was settled in his arms, he kissed her temple and smiled. “We’ll conquer the naps like we always do, won’t we?” He murmured to her, and Rosie gave them both a smile before she slipped out again.

Pat only realised he was staring when Carol cleared her throat. 

“So, yeah,” Pat said quickly, a hand flying to nervously fiddle with his collar. He felt as though he were under a microscope, every look and interaction with the Captain scrutinised by eyes that knew him too well, had looked at him with love once upon a time. He swallowed. “He’s all good to go.”

Carol held up a box from the sofa. The Scout uniform. 

“This is lovely,” she said, genuinely pleased with it. “You didn’t tell me about it.”

Pat shifted his weight. “Actually, it was a gift. From Ronnie and the family.” It wasn’t technically a lie since they had all been eager for him to open it and it _ had _ been wrapped by Hannah after all, but he opted to omit the fact that it was all the Captain’s doing. He could only bear so much at a time. 

“Well, it’s grand. I’ll be expecting pictures of him in it next time you have him,” she said, getting to her feet and pulling Daley’s stroller out. “I suppose we’d better be off then.” 

“Yeah,” Pat said, hating how his voice cracked, especially with the Captain watching from the sidelines with his niece still in his arms.

He leaned over the stroller and stroked Daley’s face from his temple to his chin and then kissed his forehead a few times. He snuffled in his sleep and barely opened his eyes, bleary and sweet, before closing them again. 

“See you soon,” he said, and he did his best to smile instead of cry.

  
  
  
  


“It must be hard, Pat,” Rosie said ten minutes later. 

The pair of them were sat back in the living room alone. The Captain had successfully put Hollie down for a nap in her room upstairs and was busy preparing an overnight bag, and Hannah was playing with her new toys in her bedroom, her interest in the bulk of festive films on the telly lost for the time being. Both were glad for the moment of peace.

Pat hummed. “I keep waiting to get used to it,” he said. 

“Oh love,” she said, and covered her hand with his. “I’m sure you will. I’ve been doing solo parenting since I had Hannah so I can’t say I know how this all works, but you’ve a good head on your shoulders and I’ve seen how you dote on that little boy. It’ll all come up roses, you’ll see,” she said, squeezing. “And you don’t just have Ronnie, don’t you forget. You’re welcome here anytime. I’m so glad you decided to come today.”

It felt so good to be reassured, parent to parent, and Pat had only affection and good feelings toward the woman grasping his fingers tight. He didn’t know what he’d done to be afforded the Ackermans or how it came to be that he had met the Captain at precisely the right time, but he was endlessly glad he had, and that he had been so graciously welcomed into their home and hearts.

“Me too,” Pat said. “Thank you.”

She pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back in circles, and only prised herself away when the Captain returned with a small canvas duffel bag in hand. 

“I’ll just get you those leftovers,” she said, looking between them both with a smile. “Lucky for you, Ronnie cooks like he’s feeding a family of ten.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he said with raised eyebrows.

Rosie swatted his arm on her way past. “Give over, you.”

“We were just talking about today,” Pat reassured. 

“Just feel free to say when she comes on strong. My sister is a remarkable woman but I’ll be damned if she isn’t as soft as they come. It can get rather suffocating, but then again, I am under her roof constantly. She fusses like a mother hen.” 

“Cluck cluck!” Rosie called sharply in his ear, sending him jumping in surprise.

“_Good lord!_” He hissed. “Must you _ always?_”

She laughed, and if she hadn’t had tupperware boxes balanced in her arms, Pat didn’t doubt she’d be pointing as she did so. She handed them to Pat before he could protest. “That’s what you get for talking about me, now stop being mardy and give me a hug before you go. Pat’s had his turn.”

The Captain rolled his eyes but seemed to know better than to argue, stepping in to wrap his arms tightly around his sister. For all they squabbled and quipped at each other, Pat couldn’t deny their genuine love and respect for one another. It made him sorely miss having something similar in his life, the only family he had being Daley and, at a push, Mary, whom he had known for many, many years. 

He made a mental note to tell her that, the next time he could.

“See, he loves it really,” Rosie said with a grin when they parted. 

He huffed and bristled but the Captain didn’t dispute it, and Pat had seen his softer side first-hand; he’d have been fooling no one had he tried to.

“Now, off with you both. Enjoy the rest of your day,” she said, and shortly shooed them out of the door, back into the snow-capped afternoon.

  
  
  
  


Pat never really felt like he was coming home when he returned to his flat, but with the Captain by his side, it was much less difficult to face. With their coats hung side by side in the hallway, he popped the leftovers in the fridge and set the kettle to boil, digging in the cupboard for the chocolate biscuits he knew the other man favoured. 

“You didn’t decorate?” The Captain commented from his small living room, already making himself comfortable in his spot.

“Didn’t see much point, really,” Pat answered.

“A shame. There’s nowhere for me to leave your gift now.”

Wanting to know he’d heard right, Pat ducked out of his pokey kitchen and stared. “What gift?” He asked. “When did you—”

“Ah, ah,” the Captain interrupted, holding a finger up to shush him. “It’s nothing much, I promise. I know we had no formal arrangement to get each other gifts but I’m fairly sure you’ll appreciate it.” He smirked, eyes alight, and reached into his bag at his feet until he could pull out a rectangular box. Then he patted the seat beside him. “The tea can wait a moment. Come and sit. Open it.”

Pat hesitated before he joined him, accepting the box. He shook it to his ear and frowned when he gleaned no help from it. “What is it?” He asked. 

“That’s why you open it,” he encouraged with a roll of his eyes. 

“Alright, okay,” Pat said. 

The older man shifted. “It’s just something I thought would cheer you up, I suppose. I almost changed my mind but I thought, after today, that maybe you’d like it after all. Forgive me if it’s silly.”

Pat listened, intrigued, and then slowly lifted the lid off of the box. His brows knitted together for all of a second, eyes landing on the item inside, before context dawned and he felt his heart skyrocket. 

Sitting on a bed of foam, shiny and new, was a blue pocket knife. 

The Captain smiled warmly, eyes crinkled and amused. “If you ever find yourself in another tricky situation, you can get yourself out now,” he explained quietly.

Whether it was the emotions of the day still running high or sentimental value of the gift, Pat didn’t know, but he felt tears spring to his eyes. Though he was loathe to cry in front of the man again, Pat couldn’t ignore the deliberate reminder of the day they had met, forced to consider just how much his life had changed since. He thought of how close they had grown, too. More and more, the Captain wrapped around his waking mind. He dangled the prospect of a future they could write together and Pat wondered what that would be like, to step from lives so filled with grey to full colour.

“I love it,” Pat whispered. “And you called your sister soft.” He took the pocket knife out of the box and stroked along a smooth edge, overwhelmed and so filled with want. Whatever they were weaving together, if anything at all, he loved.

The Captain hummed. “Perhaps she’s a bad influence.”

“Or I’m turning you gooey in your old age,” Pat teased, looking up.

“Possible,” he conceded, and then, “but less of the old, please.”

Pat’s smile was cheeky. “Sorry,” he said, and before he knew it, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to the Captain’s cheek, a hand braced on his elbow. It was just a peck, over in a flash, but his own face flushed regardless at the boldness that had overtaken him in that moment. He drew back and forced himself to not duck his head, but to hold his friend’s eyes steadily. “Thank you,” Pat continued. “Not just for the present, but for everything.”

Blinking, the Captain said, “Quite alright. Anytime.” Little did Pat know that the Captain was far too surprised to notice his blush, too concerned with his own as his skin rushed with the same electric charge as Pat’s lips when they parted.

“I’ll make that tea,” Pat said in a hurry, and up he went.

He was followed with wide eyes as he put distance between them, going through the motions of pouring water and stirring sugar and adding milk as he tried not to mentally berate himself too much. It was just a kiss on the cheek, and yet his heart hammered and he felt as though his world had shrunk in that moment to just the two of them. That was always dangerous, and so was the way he swore the Captain’s eyes turned owlish and awed, and he swallowed. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered to himself. “It’s probably nothing.” He grabbed the mugs and hooked the packet of biscuits under one arm before carrying them all out, not about to give himself more time to work himself into knots.

Of course the Captain spied the biscuits immediately. “You got digestives?” He sat up. 

“Well they’re not for me,” Pat said, easing onto the sofa and handing them over. “I can take or leave them but you? Well.” 

If the Captain had been at all affected, it had faded away by the time he eagerly broke into the small packet of biscuits and helped himself to a few. “Absolutely splendid,” he said, munching happily as if he hadn’t had Christmas dinner earlier.

Pat relaxed enough to switch on the television, comforted by the other man’s ease. He found an old Christmas classic and left it on as they enjoyed their tea, but Pat didn’t truly pay attention. His thoughts drifted as they often did. He’d made memories that day that he certainly would not have if he’d stuck to his guns and had a quiet one alone in his flat. 

It hadn’t been a bad Christmas, all things considered. 

  
  
  
  
  


Despite the evening taking a hold, the sky remained white outside and the world beyond the small flat twinkled on in the dark, moonlight catching on snow. 

Pat shuffled into the living room in mismatched socks, fresh from a shower as he towelled at his damp hair. His shirt clung where droplets of water ran from the base of his neck down before he could quite catch them. He took a seat and tried his best not to disturb the Captain. 

He had fallen asleep hours before, belly full of tea and biscuits, and Pat reasoned that he deserved a nap after being on his feet in the kitchen all day. So he let him sleep, covered him with a small crochet blanket, and watched a few more films with the volume turned low. When his eyes began to wander, roaming along handsome features slack with sleep, he finally got up to wash off the day. 

The ten o’clock news sounded and Pat turned up the volume slightly. Christmas always left him feeling out of the loop with current affairs and he quietly dried his hair as the presenter gave the day’s headlines. 

_ “...MP Julian Fawcett has been found in what official statements describe as ‘a compromising state’ and a full investigation will be launched into the latest scandal to centre around the familiar face of Parliament. Margot Fawcett, scholar and wife to Mr. Fawcett, declined to comment. The pair married two years ago...” _

“Oh, good lord, him again?” The Captain grumbled sleepily from beside him.

Pat laughed, the towel stilled in place. “He’s never off the news, is he?”

“On there more than the blasted weather,” he agreed, sitting up and letting his blanket pool at his waist. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, peering at the television closer. “Ten at night? Why on earth didn’t you wake me?”

“You clearly needed it. It’s Christmas anyway, you’re allowed to sleep at funny hours of the day,” Pat said with a shrug.

The older man stretched, easing his stiff muscles. “As lovely as your sofa is, it hasn’t done my back any favours to sleep like that.” He grimaced as joints popped and cracked, rolling his shoulders and then his neck.

Pat looked apologetic. Guilty, even. “Sorry. I didn’t think,” he said quickly, lowering the towel to his lap with a frown. “Come to think of it, I don’t actually have a proper bed to offer you. I’m a bloody idiot.” 

The Captain sniffed. “Then I’ll share yours. We’re mature adults, are we not?”

He couldn’t really argue that point. “I suppose so,” he said. 

“Good?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

He could handle it. It was just two friends sharing a bed. “Good,” he agreed.

“I must say, I’m looking forward to sleeping away from my sister’s house. I’m grateful for her and the children of course, but sometimes it’s all too much. It gets on top of me, not having my own space, feeling dependent at my age.” He sighed and focused on the soft wool of the crocheted blanket, fiddling with it.

Pat set his towel to one side and shifted closer. “Well, you can come here anytime you like. I don’t mind.”

The Captain laughed. “Isn’t that just switching dependency from one person to another? You don’t need that extra burden, Pat. You’ve enough on your plate.”

“Hey, now. That’s not how it worked before when the shoe was on the other foot. What was it you said, about accepting help? Well, bloody accept it.” He reached out, hand grasping the Captain’s fidgeting one. “You’ll get on your feet, I’m sure you will. With the job and everything, you can save, can’t you?”

Another laugh, bitter and wobbly. Pat swore he was close to tears and he hadn’t prepared for that at all. He squeezed his fingers and ran his thumb along them, desperate to help and clueless as to how.

“You know as well as I do that it’s not that easy. Have you seen the prices for a mortgage these days? It’s hopeless, and I’m not getting any younger. I just want to have space to breathe, and to…” 

Pat blinked. “For what?” He urged. 

He was met with nervous eyes. “To be with someone,” he said quietly. 

Warmth shot up Pat’s spine, spreading across his neck and dappling his cheeks. It was an intimate thing to admit, however honest, especially when Pat’s thumb still traced circles on his skin. 

“I see,” he said, wetting his lips. His mouth was bone dry. “Understandable. You’re only human.”

“Human, _ and _getting on a bit. You remember what I said about dillying. Can’t imagine I’ll be much of a catch to any self-respecting man when he realises I live with my sister and cannot even afford to rent.”

“Then move in with me.” 

The offer hit them both like a ton of bricks and they stared at each other for a few long moments, trying to decide whether it had actually happened or not. Pat’s heart pounded and he wondered exactly what the other man would say.

Then he pressed on, confidence pulled out of nowhere. “I mean it. It makes sense. You get out from under Rosie’s feet, more room for yourself, and there’s a spare room going untouched.” He couldn’t believe the words as they left his mouth and maybe it was the sheer feigned confidence getting to him, but it did seem to make sense. 

The Captain squinted. “Hang on. How on earth are you affording a three-bed place on your own?” He asked, utterly confused. “Am I missing something?”

Pat shoved his glasses up. “Mary is my landlord. Did I not mention that part?” He smiled. “We’ve been friends for years, obviously, but she’s always rented places out. When the divorce happened and we found out about Daley, she gave me a very generous discount to move in here. She’s been amazing. Luckily she’s never been short of a bob or two so it hasn’t affected her at all, really. Still, I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“Why does she work for the Scouts, then?” The Captain asked. 

“It’s just a volunteer position,” Pat explained. “She enjoys it, and she loves the kids. She’s always wanted to work with them, bless her.” 

“And what about Daley?” He questioned on, hitting all the points he needed to.

“Well, there is that. You’ve lived with Hannah and Hollie so it won’t be new to you, and Daley isn’t here all the time. If you’re prepared to live around a baby still, then the offer is there.”

The Captain considered it all with a few thoughtful hums, and then he asked, “Do you have any decent alcohol kicking around in your kitchen?”

“What for?”

“To celebrate, of course. And to toast to Mary.”

Pat sat forward, a grin threatening to bloom. “Seriously?”

“You said it yourself; it makes sense,” the Captain agreed, but then his smile faltered and his brows pulled together. “Provided you really are sure about this, Pat. Do you honestly want to have me around that much? It’s a big commitment.”

“I was married, you know. Before that I was at Uni. I’m used to living with people and in case you couldn’t tell, I love having you around.” His hand, still curled around the Captain’s, squeezed gently. “I’d love to have you here.”

“You _ do _ make a very good cup of tea,” the Captain said, as if it was the pinnacle of the reasons he had to want to move in with him.

Pat laughed. “And you can make good on your promise to cook for me.”

“When did I promise that?”

“Shut up.”

“I see we’re already off to a great start as roommates.”

Pat’s little giggles continued as he shook his head, clambering off the sofa in search of two glasses and some cheap wine from his fridge. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do. He could hardly believe it, heart soaring, on too much of a high to deliberate over whether the situation could turn disastrous for him and his ever-growing feelings. What if the Captain met someone else, and brought him back to their shared home? Pat’s thoughts threatened to turn frantic and panicked and he pushed them away, unscrewing the lid of the wine.

He returned with the glasses filled, handing one over.

“To us,” the Captain toasted, raising his drink up, “and to Mary.” 

“To us,” Pat murmured.

Their glasses touched and the deal was sealed.

  
  
  
  


Pat made quick work of brushing his teeth before he climbed into his side of the bed, already in his pyjamas after his shower. He let the Captain take the en-suite after him to change and brush his own teeth, and Pat listened to the soft sounds of him moving around through the closed wooden door as he waited, thumbs twiddling nervously on top of the duvet that was pulled to his chest.

When the Captain emerged and flicked off the bathroom light, he was left illuminated by the golden glow of Pat’s bedside lamp and nothing more, the lean lines of him covered in blue cotton pyjamas that buttoned at the front. They looked incredibly soft and of _ course _ that was his choice in sleepwear, Pat unable to imagine anything less. 

“Weren’t you ever told it’s rude to stare?” The Captain questioned as he turned down his side of the duvet and slipped in like it was nothing at all.

The younger man looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m joking, clearly.” The Captain settled on his side facing Pat, half of his face hidden by a plump grey pillow. His hair, usually combed back neatly, fell forwards onto his forehead. “You’re definitely sure about this?”

Pat matched his position, face-to-face in bed. “It’s just a bed,” he said. 

The Captain laughed and that close, Pat could fully appreciate the lines at his eyes, the fanning of his lashes, the flecks of colour in his blue eyes, even the little brown freckles and beauty spots on his cheeks and down his neck. 

“Not _ this_,” he emphasised, “but the flat itself. My moving in.”

“Oh,” Pat said. “Yeah, ‘course I’m sure. Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” His hang-ups regarding his blooming adulation and ridiculous hankering weren’t enough to truly rock his decision. The Captain’s quality of life meant more and as each day passed, Pat grew more sure that the other man was worth feeling for. 

There was something in the look of his eyes and the way that he smiled that told him to just hang on.


	7. No More Wide Eyes (I Can't Pretend)

Warmth was the first thing Pat felt as he stirred. Eyelids too heavy to prise open, he allowed himself to feel the familiar weight of his duvet and breathe a lazy sigh. His senses worked slowly to catch up with a brain still fogged with sleep but when his fuzzy thoughts processed, he hazily wondered why the bed was dipped more than usual, and why the cotton scent of his bed-covers were inexplicably mixed with a spicy cologne. His lips tugged up in a languid smile, ultimately unconcerned with the discoveries and all too content to turn toward the mysterious source of extra heat in his bed.

“Good morning,” a voice called from the periphery of sleep. 

Pat simply hummed in response.

“Are you always this difficult to rouse?” Came the voice again. 

He would have known that audible eyebrow-raise anywhere. He opened one eye cautiously and, when he found his bedroom still safely doused in the darkness of early morning, opened both completely. 

The Captain was sitting up with two pillows against the headrest. He peered down at Pat with a small smile, a mere smidgen of gentle amusement. Pat silently marvelled at the odd angles his hair stood at, how some of it fell to his forehead as if it had been hastily combed with fingers and then given up on. The most striking thing of all, however, were a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

“You never said you wear glasses,” Pat said quietly, one side of his face still pressed to his pillow. He felt remarkably calm for someone who had just woken up next to the man who held his affections. Wonders would apparently never cease. He cracked a small smile of his own and added, “They suit you. Are they just for reading?”

“Mhm,” the Captain said. “I like to check the news and weather and whatnot first thing. The text on these things is shocking, you know.” He held up his phone to show him.

Laughing, Pat pulled himself up to sitting, the duvet slipping down as he went. He yawned and pulled it back up again, not appreciating the chill of the room compared to the toasty confines of the bed. “You can change the size of the writing.” He felt on the bedside table for his own glasses and shoved them on his face. “You can do all sorts these days, though I’m surprised you don’t have an actual newspaper every morning.”

“I like to stay up to date,” the Captain grumbled, “and I can hardly have a paper at the ready in someone else’s home. Are you insinuating I’m a technophobe, Patrick? I’m offended. I can actually use gadgets. Just because I don’t have the _ Facebook_—”

“It’s just ‘_Facebook’_,” Pat said, “and nobody under the age of forty says ‘gadgets’. Case in point.”

The Captain rolled his eyes and put his phone back down before linking his fingers together over his stomach and closing his eyes. “It’s far too early for your nonsense,” he said. “I preferred it when you were asleep.” The minute twitch of his moustache gave away that he wasn’t truly annoyed at all.

“Do you always wake up this early? Military training hard to shake, is it?”

Pat had zero intention of going back to sleep, it seemed. The Captain sighed. He was certainly chipper for the crack of dawn, whereas the Captain needed a cup of tea or two just to get himself going in the mornings. Still, he couldn’t help but smile at the man being his typical self. He wouldn’t change him given the chance and he’d definitely throttle anyone who tried, that was for damned sure.

“Mhm,” he hummed again, eyes still firmly shut.

“And you’re obviously such a morning person.”

“How are you so lively? I couldn’t wake you a minute ago.” 

Pat’s face fell and he cleared his throat, looking away. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Been a while since I’ve woken up to another face. It always made mornings better.”

“I see,” the Captain said, quiet, before turning his head Pat’s way. His face had softened considerably. “It is nice to have company too, I won’t lie.”

“Really? Because you seemed a bit annoyed,” Pat said quickly, voice higher.

He laughed quietly. “Well I wasn’t expecting you to be so..._ yourself_. It takes most people a while to come ‘round. I also admit I can be a bit of a grouch first thing. Apologies,” he said, eyeing Pat over the rims of his glasses.

Pat cheered up at that. “I’m sure we’ll get used to each other’s habits,” he said.

“Yes, I expect we will.”

Pat watched the Captain. They were there in his bed, covers still warm from their combined sleep and the world still and quiet beyond, and Pat didn’t know how he was staying so calm. He wished he could reach out, thread their fingers together and lie a while longer in peace, but if he stayed there for another minute he would end up giving himself away. It wasn’t the time. He wondered if it ever would be.

“If I put the kettle on, would you be happier?” He asked instead.

The Captain’s eyebrows rose at the offer. His moustache twitched again. “Perhaps if you added breakfast to that equation.”

Finally braving the room beyond the duvet, Pat peeled his side back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I think I’ve got some bacon left in the fridge. You’re a lucky man,” he said with a quick smile over his shoulder, casual like his heart wasn’t in his throat at the easy domesticity of it all.

_ That I am, _ the Captain thought quietly, but what he actually said was, “I prefer mine with eggs.”

Pat had pulled on a grey checked dressing gown, tying it neatly at the waist in a knot the Captain vaguely recognised. He was still rather sleepy, after all.

“Oi, don’t push it,” Pat warned, but there was no bite to this voice and he still bore a bright smile. “Up and at ‘em, then. There’s no breakfast in bed today.”

“What kind of service is this? I might have to rethink this whole moving in business at this rate,” the Captain said. 

“_Up,_” Pat repeated around a laugh, then he shuffled from the room. A second later, he popped his head back around the door and asked, “Forgot to ask: how do you like your eggs?”

“Soft boiled, please,” he answered, his face threatening to flame.

Pat grinned. “Right you are,” he said, then disappeared again.

  
  
  
  


By the time the Captain emerged from the bedroom, dressed in his clothes from the day before, the eggs were already on while bacon sizzled away in a pan and bread slowly browned in the toaster. It all filled the small kitchen with a delicious aroma, awakening his senses where they still trailed behind with sleep.

He couldn’t help but imagine the routine but every morning, looking ahead to the time where they’d be living together. That thought seemed beyond unreal and yet it was decided. It was _ happening. _ Perhaps it was hopeful of him, dangerous to grow accustomed to such things so soon, but the sight of Pat still in his pyjamas with a tea towel slung over one shoulder was a hard thing not to yearn for in his opinion. It was a closeness he’d always desired.

“My shirt is wrinkled to the heavens,” he grumbled lightly, but the response he expected never came and it was then that he noticed Pat’s sullen face as he stared down at the food as it cooked. “Is everything alright?”

Pat’s shoulders sagged further. He sighed. “Text from Carol.”

The Captain didn’t know what to expect from that. “Elaborate, please? I’m not a mind-reader,” he said as he pulled a chair out to sit at the table.

If he was a tad too snappy, Pat didn’t seem phased by it. Instead he just forced himself up straighter and said, “She wants me to show my face at our - _ their _ \- house. For New Year’s Eve. She’s making it all about Daley as it’s his first, you know? And since I’m his dad she thought it would be only right that I’m there. I’m just not sure. I don’t know if I can.”

The Captain hated to see him so conflicted, but it was an opportunity he could hardly dissuade Pat from pursuing. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s not as if you have to spend the entire time keeping up appearances, is it?” He asked, because maybe he was wrong about the whole thing. He wouldn’t exactly know. 

Pat shrugged. “I suppose not, no. It’s still my old home, though, and I’m not very keen on seeing them together all night in it.” He was torn. On one hand, it would be a way to see in a new year and a fresh start as they all meant to go on, the three of them keeping Daley’s best interests at the forefront of everything. It was another step in his healing, his moving on. But on the other hand, he didn’t want to push himself too soon and risk turning sour as a result. 

“I say you think about it, consider if that time with Daley is worth any discomfort or if it’s still a little too much too soon. Either way, never make a big decision on an empty stomach,” The Captain said. 

He earned a small smile and a roll of Pat’s eyes. “You just want my bloody bacon and eggs, I know your game.”

“Guilty as charged.”

When Pat brought his meal over, he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face if he tried. Two eggs sat in their cups, dusted with salt and pepper and accompanied by perfectly fried bacon. The way his toast was served, however, made him beam.

“You made me soldiers,” the Captain marvelled, utterly delighted by the neatly-cut strips of toast on his plate.

“I saw the opportunity,” Pat said as he brought two mugs of tea over, looking very pleased with himself as he set them down.

“Thank you,” he said, and promptly dug in as his stomach rumbled on cue.

They shared breakfast at the small table, second-hand with none of the chairs matching, but the Captain loved it all the same. It was just another feature he couldn’t wait to call home. He only hoped that future breakfasts shared together would come with a better mood. Pat’s face still seemed glum.

“If she’s invited you, surely she intends to offer you as much time with Daley as possible? I personally don’t see many reasons to not go, and if it’s themed around your son then people will expect you there if anything. Forgive me if I’m missing something,” the Captain said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb to catch some runny yolk that had gone astray, “but this seems like a good thing.”

“Oh, it is,” Pat said earnestly, taking a sip of tea. “I’m really glad. It could have been a lot different and a lot worse, when you think about everything. I’m just a bit nervous to be there by myself, with all our old friends who definitely know all the ins and outs.” He shifted on his chair and frowned. “I’ve got to face this kind of thing eventually though, haven’t I? If they’re going to be together, I can’t avoid it.”

The Captain nodded. “Yes. Better sooner than later, if you ask me.”

“Then I’ll go,” Pat decided, trying to sound confident in the decision. “Only… Well.” He paused and frowned, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” 

“You’d like me to come with you,” the Captain said easily.

Pat paused with his sandwich raised to his mouth. “Would you?” He asked. The thought had briefly entered his mind but he hated to be a nuisance and the Captain had done so much for him over the months, it hardly felt fair to ask. To have him there would definitely be a comfort, he thought. It would help.

“Of course, provided plus-ones are allowed.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Pat said, already feeling better about it all.

The Captain smiled. “Then that’s that,” he said, then added, “and if nothing else, it gets me out of New Year’s Eve at Aunt Elaine’s.”

Pat laughed, and the rest of breakfast was spent in much better spirits.

  
  
  


“Well I think it’s a mistake,” Rosie said, shaking her head gravely.

Telling her about his decision to move in with Pat had gone over about as well as the Captain expected it to. He’d gone home after breakfast and told her no sooner than his coat was off and hung up. There was little use in dithering, even if his palms felt clammy at the prospect of her reaction.

They were in the kitchen, Rosie in the middle of drying the pots from the night before. He was surprised she hadn’t sent any crashing to the floor with his news but her expression sufficed, shocked and disbelieving, like his decision was the equivalent of him growing a second head.

The Captain tried not to become overly defensive but he held his ground as he often had to with a sister as stubborn as him. “Now, I don’t think I am,” he said. “You know I love being here, but the time has come to move on and have a little more independence. At my age, I ought to have this sorted already, but life hasn’t gone entirely in my favour. I need this, and Pat is more than happy—” 

“I’m sure he is,” Rosie butted in. She finished drying the plate she was on and set it down. “Pat’s a lovely man and God knows, he’s pulled you out of the mud as much as you did ‘him. But moving in with him is asking for feelings to get hurt and you know it. It’s a big risk.” Her tone was stern, warning. 

“What are you saying?” He asked, voice hitching higher, feathers truly ruffled.

She simply inclined her head and stared at him hard, brow raised, doing an excellent job of making him feel utterly exposed. “You know _ exactly _ what I’m saying, Ronald Ackerman,” she said, a perfect impression of their mother that made him swallow. She only ever used his full name when she wanted him to really digest her words. “You know damn well there’s more going on than either of you have the guts to admit, and if nothing’s going to come of it then I don’t want to see you hurt. Or Pat, for that matter. You’ve _ both _ been through enough.”

The Captain practically simmered, but his confidence in his ability to shrug the whole thing off had sadly wilted. “We’re just friends,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Rosie barked a laugh. “Oh, come off it. I weren’t born yesterday, you know. You talk about nothing but him, and I’ve seen you like this before.”

“That was different and you know it. Pat isn’t… He is _ not _like anyone else.”

Despite her headstrong tendencies, Rosie knew when to back off. Her brother’s whole body had gone rigid and his eyes took on a sheen she hated to see. For him to be moved so much, she knew it was serious, and so she sighed and chucked her towel to the counter before she hastily brought him into a hug that he knew better than to refuse. 

“I know. I know he’s not,” she said as she rubbed small circles into his back. “I’ll support you no matter what, you know that. Just don’t make a mess of it, for his sake as well as your own. Talk to him,” she said against his shoulder.

“I can’t tell him,” he whispered back, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face.

She sighed as the ache in his voice made her heart twist painfully. “You haven’t _ tried_, though, love. I think he might surprise you. Have you not seen how he looks at you? He lights up as soon as you march into a room. He’s smitten if you ask me.”

He pulled out of the hug, unwilling to believe it. His jaw tensed. “He’s _ divorced_. He has a _ baby_. There’s no way on this Earth he wants to be involved with me. Friendship is _ all _ he wants.” He ducked his chin and avoided Rosie’s eyes, intent on closing in on himself the way he always did when everything got too much.

She didn’t let him, taking his hands and squeezing them. “Better not jump to conclusions before you’ve actually asked him what he wants, save both of you the confusion. Find the time to talk. I just think you might want to do it _ before _ you move all your things in, that’s all I’m saying.”

It was much easier said than done and he frowned. “There never seems to be a right time,” he stressed, eyebrows pulled together. “Sometimes there are these moments, when we’re close, but it just...never happens.” The act of confiding in someone he loved did little to ease the pain he felt admitting it. “For a second I think he might realise the feeling behind my actions, but he never does. Or if he has, he’s done a good job of hiding it.”

“I’m confused. Didn’t you have breakfast together after spending the night? In his bed, I might bloody add.”

The Captain’s eyes bugged. “Yes, but not in _ that _ way. It was my suggestion, anyway. His sofa damned well nearly did my back in.”

Rosie patted his hands and sighed. “Can’t blame me for assuming, what with how you are together. If that’s his way of wanting “just friendship” then you definitely need to talk. You’ve only a mouth on you until you actually need to use it, that’s your trouble. You’re leaving each other guessing. Just be honest with him; you’re the one who hates dillying, as you put it.”

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled.

She patted his hands once more and then got up.

Despite how he hated it, he knew she was right.

  
  
  
  


The stretch of timeless days between Christmas and New Year were as painful as always, but finally the Captain found himself in front of the mirror in Rosie’s bathroom, smoothing his hands down a blue wool blazer nervously. He only had a few minutes before he was due to set off and pick Pat up, the designated driver for the evening. He knew he was stalling and yet he couldn’t stop.

He’d had a lot of time to think, and his conclusion was that he hated the thought of going into a fresh year still in limbo when it came to each other’s feelings. So he planned to talk to Pat, to put all of his cards on the table once the party was over and leave the other man in no doubt as to how he felt. He had envisioned it in his head countless times since he had thought of it; the drive back to Pat’s, taking his hands in the living room, carefully saying the words he’d rehearsed...

“You look fine,” Rosie said from the doorway, making him jump. 

The Captain said nothing, only catching her eye in the mirror.

She folded her arms. “You’re going to tell him, aren’t you? Tonight, I mean.”

He turned and cleared his throat. “That’s the plan, unless you tell me I’m crazy in which case I’ll scrap the idea completely. It’s probably for the best—”

Rosie tutted and grasped him tightly, but smiled. “Don’t be daft. Good luck.”

He swallowed with one final look in the mirror. “Thank you. I reckon I’ll need it.”


	8. Hold Me When I Put My Heart In Your Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back, baby! Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, encouraging words and anticipation for more. Sorry it's been a long wait between updates this time, but I hope this lengthy chapter makes up for that. I'm so touched that Ronnie and Pat's story has entertained you, moved you, and made you excited to read. I can't wait to bring you on the rest of their journey! Enjoy.

“I’m not too early, am I?” The Captain asked from Pat’s doorway.

The Captain was precisely twenty minutes early to their agreed time, but Pat couldn’t possibly mind. He had only occupied the previous ten minutes nervously pacing his flat anyway, glad when the Captain texted him to let him know he had parked outside. Any excuse to stop wearing his carpet away to bare floorboards.

Pat blinked owlishly behind his glasses. It was no question that his friend always looked handsome, but the blue of his blazer complimented the depth of his eyes and his crisp grey button-down was the same shade as the hair at his temples. The Captain’s smartness was simple and distinguished, so put-together that it could fool an unknowing eye into thinking he rolled out of bed that way.

Pat knew differently, of course. Only recently, he’d woken up beside him and seen his hair rumpled and out of place. The Captain had allowed him that privilege, one Pat couldn’t imagine he gave to many.

“Not too early,” Pat answered, aware he’d spent a moment too long staring. His fingers shook as he locked the door behind him, a brief but welcome distraction as a warmth crept up the back of his neck.

He’d made an effort himself: a simple affair of a black button-down beneath his smartest coat, hair combed neatly to the side. There was even a fancy argan oil worked into his moustache, one he’d treated himself to a Christmas ago but was never really sure he was using right despite reading the directions. Still, it smelled great and made any unruly, wiry hairs soft to the touch and easy to tame. For the first time in months, Pat had smiled in front of his mirror. He’d even felt a little surge of confidence.

“You look...” The Captain faltered and blinked. 

Pat immediately looked down at himself, checking for lint or stains or something out of place, perhaps a crumb from the toast he’d eaten earlier. “What is it?” He asked anxiously as he patted himself down. He frowned, sure he’d taken the best care with everything.

His friend’s eyes widened. “No, you look...well, rather extraordinary, actually. I’m used to seeing you in t-shirts or Scout shorts, that’s all.”

The Captain called him extraordinary. For his _ appearance_, specifically. His ears burned hot with words they couldn’t believe while curiosity sparked in his chest.

As caught off-guard as he was, Pat pocketed his keys and swallowed. “Thank you,” he struggled as his pulse buzzed. With a nervous laugh, he added, “I wasn’t sure what was too much or not enough for the occasion. How do you dress for your ex-wife’s party? But I got there eventually.” He smoothed his hands self-consciously down his coat and resisted the urge to touch his own hair. 

He caught the Captain’s moustache twitch. “Certainly a conundrum,” he agreed, “but thank heavens you cracked it.” Finally he tipped his head toward him again and offered his arm. “Shall we?” 

Pat was reminded of Christmas, of snow and their arms entwined. Though they saw each other at work from time to time between busy schedules and texted constantly beyond that, nothing was quite the same as those moments together. Those times of closeness and understanding, the building of a bond that helped Pat stay steady and filled him with renewed hope, renewed love. He kept them locked in his heart and guarded well, and on his loneliest nights he would allow himself the pleasure of unlocking them again - just for a second, just to let the hope and love wrap him up as tight as the duvet on his bed.

He took the arm without another moment wasted. A smile bloomed on his face as the memories kept the late December chill at bay. Somewhere, amongst a mind sweetened like flowers on Summer air by the man he grasped tight, he wondered if his feelings weren’t so unrequited after all. The Captain had truly given him his first big pause for thought, one he’d no doubt return to later when he didn’t have other things on his mind. He stored the intrigue away with a little giddy thrill, unable to believe the possibility yet unable to dismiss it either.

“Thanks again, for this,” he said, breath twirling up and past the Captain’s face. His fingers curled around the older man’s coat, its tweed somehow rough and soft against his fingers at the same time. He adored it.

“Nonsense. I offered,” the Captain said. The truth was that he wasn’t awfully keen on lowering his wits around people he didn’t know. He wanted to be on guard, for his sake as well as Pat’s, but he kept tight-lipped on that. Pat remained none the wiser.

When Pat slid into the passenger seat of the Mercedes and inhaled gently, he relished the scent of spice and leather that washed over him, cut with the sweeter vanilla of the freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. It was safe and comforting and affection swelled in him when the Captain switched to his favourite station without a word.

Despite a steady pulse of nerves, a shared current with the hum beneath his skin that Pat had learned to attribute only to the Captain of late, he did his best to relax as they drove. Dark, winding roads were lined with streetlights and the windows of countryside houses glowed orange in their uneven, haphazard rows. The radio was just a quiet trickle in the background as the Sat-Nav told them what turns to take.

“Alright?” The Captain asked quietly after ten minutes of silence from them both.

Pat, relaxed back against his headrest, was so caught up in the fluid movements of the Captain’s hands on the wheel and the changing of gears that he didn’t register him speaking for a good few seconds. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he said, facing forwards again. 

“You were quiet, that’s all. I usually can’t shut you up.” Even without the smile it came with, Pat knew it was a simple, gentle jest. It was the easy route to take, despite the Captain dipping his toes into unfamiliar territory back at the flat. Pat wondered if he’d try it again and when; he couldn’t remember the last time anyone said he looked nice. He tried not to focus on how sad and lonely that made him sound.

The thrilling development was sadly overshadowed by the place they were destined. He didn’t know how to spend a night in the company of his ex-wife and his old best friend. It, too, was unfamiliar territory. Would his friends look at him in sympathy? Would he question which of them had talked and laughed behind his back? His stomach rolled and he once again wondered if he was doing the right thing. Rationally, he knew it wouldn’t make him a bad dad if he stayed at home, but it wasn’t about proving himself - it was about cultivating peace.

“I don’t know what to expect.” He sighed and ran his fingers nervously along the edge of his seatbelt. “There’ll be people there I’ve known for years - people who came to my _ wedding_. To be there while Carol and Morris are…” He cleared his throat. “It’s just a bit weird, I suppose. I’m hoping it feels less weird once I’m there and I’ve worried for nothing.” The Captain raised his eyebrows at that and Pat nodded, understanding. “Yeah, trust me. I’m the optimist. I know, I know.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” the Captain said, despite his own apprehension. “Like you said: things like this are going to be a feature in your life, now. Just focus on Daley. He’s the main reason you’re going, yes?”

Pat smiled. His son’s mention briefly eclipsed his worry; it was easy advice to take when he reminded himself of why it was all worth it in the end. He could stand to be a bit uncomfortable if it meant being there for Daley, to see in his first New Year whilst proving he could be civil in the presence of Carol and Morris as a unit. And he had the Captain at his side, sturdy and dependable, to take him away if it all got too much. He’d be alright.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Pat said happily. His knee bounced excitedly.

“There we go, then. Much better. I’ll be alert, don’t you worry, so you just spend time with your baby and don’t fret.”

“Yes, sir,” Pat said with a salute.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Rosie,” the Captain grumbled.

  
  
  


“Pat, hi,” Morris greeted them at the door. He extended a hand to shake Pat’s, his other occupied with a beer bottle. “Glad you decided to come. And you brought…” He trailed off.

The Captain tipped his chin up and watched Morris through a sharpened gaze. He didn’t trust the man’s overly friendly attitude or his oafish grin. It made his instincts stand to attention, preparing him to act. For what, he didn’t know, but the man’s mere presence activated his fight or flight response and he wasn’t about to ignore it. He sized him up silently.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Pat said, clearing his throat. “This is Ronnie.”

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Morris said. He held his hand out a second time. The Captain simply stared at it until a nudge to his foot prompted him to take it. “Heard you were in the Army. An officer, was it?” The small man asked.

“Captain,” came the short reply. He declined to add that he was not his ‘mate’ lest Pat get upset with him, but he hoped it was implied in the unwavering stiffness of his features.

Pat couldn’t help a small smirk at how Morris visibly shrunk in the Captain's shadow. He could also hardly blame him for his hostility or the way his friend stood to his full height, presence commanding. He looked to his shoes, biting his moustache in the process.

“Very impressive,” Morris said, his smile faltering just barely as he looked between the two of them. “Well, come in. Daley’s with Carol.” He seemed eager to disappear back to the music and guests once they were all inside. Pat couldn’t possibly think why.

The Captain leaned down as he shucked his coat off. “I don’t like him,” he whispered in Pat’s ear.

Pat shivered at the unexpected closeness, the waft of the Captain’s cologne and hair product. “Behave yourself,” he warned under his breath. When he went to hang his own coat up, he found his old peg already taken by Morris’s jacket. He swallowed and found the free one next to the Captain’s instead. “You might not like him - I don’t much either - but I’ve to be civil, and tonight has to go well.”

“I’m telling you, Pat,” he went on in hushed tones. “I’ve known men like him. All charm on the front, but they’re snakes in the grass. Mark my words: he’s trouble. Not to mention the weak handshake, like grasping a soggy bit of limp lettuce.” He pulled a face of disgust.

Pat couldn’t help the giggle that rose up. He bit most of it back, thankfully, and gently thwacked the Captain’s arm. “_Behave,_” he repeated. “Let’s go and find Daley. I’m sure there’ll be some chocolate for you to pilfer.”

The Captain visibly perked up at that. “Say no more.”

“Thought that might work,” Pat said.

It was strange to walk through the house that was no longer his but still bore his emotional imprint. He knew every room and had a dozen memories for each one, and day by day they were being written over with new ones. As he led the Captain to the living room, he tried his hardest to swallow down the misery his thoughts stirred. He was there for his future, not his past.

“Pat!” Carol called. She grabbed his attention from the same old sofa they had always had. Alison and Mike sat to her left, a lovely young couple from down South. They’d visited often back before the divorce. Pat didn’t know the woman sat on Carol’s right, though. She was halfway down a bottle - not a glass, but a _ bottle _ \- of wine. Pat blinked and tried not to rudely stare. It was none of his business.

Briefly distracted from the cuteness of the four-month-old on Carol’s lap, all four pairs of eyes looked to him. Pat tried to ride out the hot wave of self-consciousness as he stood frozen in the doorway.

A warm hand on the small of his back encouraged him forwards. “Come on,” the Captain said, quiet enough that only he could hear. “I’m right behind you.”

“Your daddy’s here, Daley,” Carol cooed down at her son. She lifted him carefully under the arms and placed a kiss on one chubby cheek before cradling him close and standing to greet Pat and the Captain with a smile. Pat saw she was a little tired behind the eyes but nonetheless happy. Her frizzy hair was pulled up into a bun and it was the first New Year’s Eve that Pat had known her to not wear a dress, opting instead for maternity jeans and a jumper.

“I’m really glad you decided to come, Pat. It means a lot to me. Though funnily enough, it was Morris’s idea.”

Pat’s heart leapt the way it always did when he saw Daley, the love he felt so simple and instinctive, but he couldn’t help but double-take at Carol’s words. He paused where he’d been holding Daley’s hand in his. “Morris?” He asked, his brows pulled together in confusion.

“Yeah. I know, I was surprised as well, but I’m happy he wants to make the effort. I didn’t know how you’d react. But we’re glad you’re here, aren’t we sweetheart? This one’s been waiting for you.” She smiled at Daley and kissed him again before handing him over. 

Daley never fussed once. He was as keen to be held in his father’s arms as Pat was to hold him. Pat cupped the back of his head and closed his eyes, soaking up the feeling of his son against his chest. With him held so close, it was remarkably easy for Pat to put his niggling worries on the back burner and decide to simply try and enjoy the evening.

Carol watched for a moment, then shook herself and said, “I’ll go and get you both a drink, won’t be a sec.”

“Ah, no alcohol for me, thank you,” the Captain said politely. “Designated driver.”

“Not a bother,” Carol said with a smile. “I don’t drink, so I’ve mastered the mocktail. Made some tonight, I’ll bring you a glass!”

As soon as Carol disappeared, the Captain leaned in and quickly whispered, “What on _ earth _ is a mocktail?” 

Pat opened his eyes and laughed at him. “Fancy way of saying fruit juice.”

“Oh. That’s fine, then.” He sniffed and rocked on his heels, but his attention soon shifted to Daley - and Pat saw his entire demeanour soften. “Is it me, or has he grown more since Christmas?” He leaned back in and held out his pinky the way Pat had taught him before, and Daley grasped it instantly. The Captain smiled triumphantly and shook the small hand. “Hello again,” he said softly.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Alison said from the sofa. Pat was surprised to hear her speaking to him, unsure if he’d go unbothered for the whole party by people he once knew well, but it was a pleasant surprise. He’d always liked her and her husband. The pair were a little clueless, but he admired their strength. He wondered if they were still having trouble with their house but didn’t know if he should bring it up or not so he tamped down his curiosity. “You must be really proud, Pat.”

“He should be,” Carol said from behind him. Pat turned to find her holding two drinks, handing one off to the Captain who raised his eyebrows at its bright orange colour. He said nothing and went to take a wary sip.

Pat nodded, dragging his eyes away. “I am proud,” he said.

“And you’ve met someone new,” Mike chimed in with a smile and a nod.

Alison beamed. “Yeah, that’s good! You make a lovely couple.”

The Captain choked, spluttering into the glass and sending a spray of fruit juice up onto his face. On the tails of the commotion came a quick, “Good lord.”

Carol hastily grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and handed it to the Captain without making eye-contact.

Pat, his cheeks flaming, stuttered out, “Oh, no. We’re not together.” He rocked Daley in his arms and patted his back, mind racing to think of something further to say that would turn the embarrassment around. His brain helpfully supplied him with a grand total of nothing. He could think of nothing worse than the situation he found himself in, caught between his ex-wife and the man he had feelings for.

Alison looked rightfully mortified. “God, I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth. I just assumed, with how you were and you arriving together— Not helping. Sorry, Pat,” she said, shrinking back into the sofa like she wanted it to swallow her whole. Pat felt much the same way about the floor. “Sorry,” she told the Captain, too.

The Captain dabbed at his chin with the napkin. “Quite alright,” he muttered.

“What’s going on?” The older woman on the sofa asked, looking up and around with a half-lidded gaze. The wine bottle in her hand was close to empty. 

Carol sighed. “Excuse Bunny, she likes her Pinot.” 

Mike grinned. “Shame she’s not getting any off her husband.” Alison quickly swatted his arm and gave him a look.

The Captain looked up sharply from where he dabbed at his shirt with the napkin. “There’ll be none of that around an infant, thank you very much— Sorry, what was your name?”

“Mike?” He answered slowly, disbelieving.

“Well, Michael - there is a _ baby _ present. Watch your mouth.”

He laughed nervously. “I don’t think a baby can understand me, mate. It was a joke. Chill out.”

The Captain opened his mouth to speak again and Pat saw his chance to cut in. “Let’s go and see what’s on the spread,” he said quickly, nodding to the buffet Carol had prepared on various tables along the back wall. He spied some extra seating back there too, out of the way where he could sit with Daley and the Captain in peace.

The Captain merely made an indignant noise in his throat before he let himself be guided away, and Pat was grateful for the chance to escape. He carried Daley as the Captain cast a keen eye over the food, loading a paper plate up with finger foods both savoury and sweet.

Pat watched him add two sandwiches in particular to the growing pile and let out a chuckle. “What happened to not liking pickle, you fibber?”

“They’re not for me, Patrick,” the Captain pointed out with a vaguely lofty stare. “You have your hands full. We can share a plate. Now, what else would you like? Chop chop.”

With a flush, Pat told him what he wanted.

  
  
  


Growing babies were not light by a long shot and Pat’s arms were relieved when they could finally take the weight off. He held Daley upright on his knee, bouncing him slightly. “You’re getting heavy,” he cooed. “At least I’ll be in shape by the time he’s walking - I’ll have arms like the Hulk.” He aimed the last part at the Captain, expecting an amused reply that never came.

The Captain chewed slowly on a piece of brownie with squinted, suspicious eyes, clearly far away from the conversation. Pat followed his gaze to Morris who was across the other side of the room, whispering to a friend of his - Pat distantly remembered him but couldn’t put a name to the face. Morris was clearly half-cut, arm slung around the other man’s shoulders.

Pat frowned. “Don’t worry about him,” he said. “You heard Carol; this was his idea.”

“Yes,” the Captain said slowly, finally, “and that’s precisely why I’m having my doubts, Patrick.”

“You didn’t see him at the hospital, either. He seemed like he was genuinely trying,” Pat insisted.

The Captain was entirely unconvinced. “Hm. I just think it’s unwise to give a known liar the benefit of the doubt when he suddenly starts behaving overly familiar and chummy again. Perhaps that’s the pessimist in me.”

Pat’s heart sank. He shifted to cradle Daley easily. “You convinced me to come here. I’m trying to build bridges.” His voice was glum.

“No, no, that’s not what I— Look,” he levelled with a sigh. “Coming here was a good choice and I respect that you want to make things work for your son’s sake. Far be it from me to say otherwise. I’m simply saying we should probably keep an eye on him. He’s a wiley one, and he isn’t averse to sneaking around and backhanded tactics. People can change, but men of his caliber rarely do.”

“Took two of them to tango,” Pat reminded him, though the use of “we” struck his heart and made it skip.

The Captain nodded. “Ah, yes, but so far nothing has alerted me to Carol being disingenuous. In fact, she seemed quite pleased to see you. At present, Morris is the only one giving me red flags. Something is just...off. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Pat sighed and took a mini Scotch egg from the paper plate. “Well, we can’t do anything other than hope he’s serious about all this,” he said, and popped it into his mouth.

He was met with kind eyes and a soft smile which the Captain then lowered to the baby on Pat’s lap. “For the both of you, I hope he is,” he said, and reached out to stroke a knuckle under Daley’s chin affectionately. 

A huge smile stretched itself over Pat’s face as his chest swelled.

The pair were content to spend the evening quietly talking amongst themselves, in their own little corner of the room as others chatted around them. Daley was almost dozed off entirely in Pat’s arms, freshly changed and soothed by the repetitive motion of his father’s gentle foot-tapping to the music drifting in. They made their way through the plate of snacks impressively fast and when the Captain went to refill it, Pat wasn’t at all surprised that he returned with nothing but chocolate treats and biscuits. While Pat didn’t have much of a sweet tooth himself, he was happy to be handed a fresh glass - this time of the same fruity mocktail that the Captain himself had been enjoying.

“I used to be Carol’s guinea pig for these,” Pat said as he took a sip. “They’ve gotten better, that’s all I can say.”

The Captain smirked around a bite of cake. “Well, I make a fantastic dessert cocktail. And a real one, too, with proper alcohol. Only served on special occasions, but I’ve never had a complaint. You must remind me to make it for you soon, perhaps for your birthday on the tenth.”

In the haze of becoming a father and the holidays, Pat had almost forgotten his birthday approached. It was really only a handful of days away and he hadn’t even made any plans at all. 

“When did I tell you my birthday?” Pat asked. He didn’t recall mentioning it.

The Captain blushed behind his glass, actually _ blushed_. He lowered the glass and shuffled. “I may have had a little..._peruse _ of the Facebook.” He immediately bristled. “I didn’t make an account, mind. I refuse to lower myself. But I got Rosie to look,” he said with a sniff. “Do you really just put that information out there? Honestly, Patrick.”

“Only to my friends!”

“Shouldn’t they already know it, if they’re your friends?” 

“Well _ you _ didn’t.” 

“Ah, but you never told me.”

“You never_ asked._” Pat grinned and leaned down to Daley. “We got him.”

The Captain rolled his eyes and busied himself with another slice of cake. 

Pat’s smile softened at the edges. “We could do something, if you like. For my birthday, that is. I’ve nothing on and I was thinking of asking Carol to have Daley that day.” 

His friend paused and watched him, seemingly contemplating it. “The three of us?” He asked. 

“Yeah, it could be nice,” Pat said.

“Then yes,” the Captain decided firmly. “I’d like that.”

After a second, Pat cleared his throat. “So. When d’you think you’ll move your things in? There’s no rush, obviously,” he said quickly, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “I was just wondering.”

“Whenever you’d like,” the Captain answered. His voice was strangely caught in his throat, soft, and his eyes crinkled. “I wanted to get the holidays out of the way first so as not to upset the girls. But after tonight, I’m all yours,” he said, and the slight glint to his eye told Pat that the wording was perhaps more intentional than he’d care to let on.

Hope coiled warm and electric in his gut. It was messy, dangerous, reckless to entertain the idea of them being _ more_. They were going to live together; bringing romantic entanglement into the mix would only serve to complicate things and risk ruining their relationship entirely. Yet Pat couldn’t help but watch the Captain as that spark exploded within him. Despite the worry, he wanted it all the same.

He smiled, nervous with a subtle undercurrent of eagerness. “Okay.”

The moment was interrupted first by the music abruptly stopping, and second by the sound of a spoon tapping the side of a bottle. All eyes, including Pat and the Captain’s, turned toward the direction of the noise.

Morris stood with his beer bottle, oafish grin back in place as he surveyed the room he now commanded.

Checking his watch quickly, the Captain realised it was fast approaching midnight. A foreboding feeling settled in his stomach. A glance at Pat found the other man’s eyes glued firmly to Morris, his face a confused frown as he tried to work out what the man was about to do.

“Thanks for your attention, everyone,” Morris said with a small, deep laugh. He seemed beyond merry; Morris swayed where he stood and took deep, heavy breaths between words. Whatever was happening was the result of one too many beers, that much was clear. “It’s almost the new year and I wanted to—to say a few words...”

The Captain scanned the onlookers for Carol. He spotted her standing with a few people he didn’t recognise. She smiled tightly, just as confused as everyone else if the deep line between her brows was anything to go by. 

“As you know, the last year has been bloody good for me.” He pointed his bottle Carol’s way. “That’s thanks to this cracking woman.”

“Charming,” Pat mumbled under his breath.

Carol looked a bit uncomfortable. She rubbed the back of her neck, but her tight smile stayed in place.

“And of course there’s Daley, who I love like… Like a son. My family.” He smiled and turned to Carol fully, then, addressing her directly with a further sway. “I want to start the new year off by making it the real thing, love. What better way than with all of our friends here, ‘ey?”

The Captain felt himself pale. He knew all at once exactly what was about to happen. “Good lord,” he whispered, eyes widening before he dragged them to the man beside him.

Pat sat stock still, holding Daley to his chest. The Captain watched as his eyes became foggy behind his glasses, expression betraying his shock and hurt. There was no mistake that the penny had dropped for him, too.

Morris dropped unceremoniously to one knee on the wooden floor with a thud, and he produced a small box from his jeans pocket. He burped, then slurred out with his eyes half-shut, “Marry me, Carol. I want us to be a proper family. What do you think?”

The room fell silent as it waited for Carol’s answer.

It came after a few agonising moments of silence, and it was sharp and embarrassed, forced through gritted teeth. “Get up,” she hissed. “We’ll talk about this. _ Outside._”

People hadn’t a clue where to look. A few people coughed, turned, averted their eyes - but most watched on in horror. It was a disaster in real-time, so hard to witness but so hard to turn away from.

Morris, who shrunk under her response, scrambled to stand again. He mumbled something they couldn’t hear, and Carol snatched the ring box from his grasp before she began to march him outside. As they went through the throngs of guests, she muttered hasty apologies.

“Pat?” The Captain asked cautiously. He hadn’t moved. He remained sat, eyes trained where they were despite Carol and Morris leaving, and he absently rubbed Daley’s back. To see him reduced to such a stunned, sad display made anger rise up and boil over.

Decision made, he was on his feet in an instant, marching with red vision and his hands fisted at his sides. He absolutely could not let it stand.

It didn’t take long to find them, following the sounds of angry shouting into the garden. Morris sat on a metal garden chair, drunk and put-out, while Carol stood above him and brandished an angry finger. 

“Did you do this on purpose?” She asked. “Did you invite my ex-husband here just to pull this stupid stunt? He’s the father of my child, Morris! We’re supposed to be setting an example. We’ve hurt him enough.”

Morris hunched over. “I’m sorry, love,” he whined.

The Captain’s boots crunched on the pebbled path as he approached. “So you should be,” he said harshly.

Both their heads shot around to him.

“Listen, mate—” Morris began.

“I’m not your _ mate_,” the Captain sneered. He stopped short of the chair in front of them both, raised to his full height. He looked down at the pathetic man before him with all the disgust he could. “How dare you? That man in there,” he said, pointing back toward the house, “has done _ everything _ to give you a second chance, despite you not deserving a damned thing. He’s been the bigger man, and you couldn’t afford him the same respect after everything you have already done to him.”

Carol had a hand to her chest, visibly upset. Her voice wobbled when she spoke. “Maybe we can talk when we’re all sober,” she said, an attempt to appeal to the Captain’s better nature.

The Captain, however, was not feeling polite. “No need,” he said. “I’m almost finished.” He leaned down into Morris’s space. “Pat is worth a thousand of you, and I hope you remember that when the cheap booze has worn off.”

Carol watched in silence as the Captain drew himself back up once more and turned, intent on returning inside to Pat and Daley.

Behind him, he heard Morris get to his feet. “Wasn’t better at fucking his wife, though,” he sniggered, to Carol’s shocked gasp.

The next thing the Captain knew was a stinging in his knuckles and the sound of Morris as he fell to the floor in a heap. In a flash he had turned and swung, letting his fist collide hard with the smug man’s mouth. 

“Morris!” Carol shouted. She was on her knees at his side as Morris held his injured face. Blood seeped between his fingers as they pressed to his split lip.

“What’s going on?” A strained voice asked from further down the path.

“He fucking hit me,” Morris snarled gruffly from the floor, all venom and no remorse.

“You were being a twat, Morris,” Carol said as she helped him to stand, an arm around his waist to steady him. “You’re drunk.”

The Captain met Pat’s disbelieving eyes. They regarded him with pain and a simmering anger. “You hit him? What are you even doing out here, Ronnie?” He asked, all the while bouncing his son in his arms in an attempt to comfort him. He gurgled and blubbered restlessly as Pat provided loving shushes and coos.

“Hold on a moment, how am _ I _ the enemy here? I was asking what the hell he was playing at, and he made a disgusting comment.” His face was the picture of perplexion, utterly confused as to Pat’s contempt with him.

Pat shook his head and laughed. The bitter sound made guilt well in the Captain’s chest. “The point of tonight was for him,” he said, nodding down to Daley. “We’re supposed to be trying, for _ him _ \- why was that too difficult for all of you?”

The Captain frowned. “I was trying to help.”

That definitely did not make matters better. Pat’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t helping. How is _ any _ of this helping? I don’t need you to fight my battles and you can’t just say whatever you like when my son is in the middle of it all. This isn’t about _ any _ of you. It’s about this little boy, but clearly you’ve all forgotten.”

Carol wiped her eyes with a trembling hand. “I didn’t mean for this, Pat, I promise,” she said quietly. “I told him not to have too much, I had no idea about the ring, I—”

Pat bit his lip and tamped down his rising emotions. “With all due respect, Carol, I think I’m going to take Daley home with me tonight while you two...sort things out. We can talk about this tomorrow when everyone’s been to bed and is in a better state. If that’s okay.” The politeness jumped out at the end like automatic punctuation despite everything.

There was a pause, then she nodded. “Yeah, yes,” she said, sniffling. She left Morris to approach Pat and Daley, kissing the latter on his head and cheek and stroking her fingers through his fine hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Then she glanced back up at Pat again. “Thank you. Just...let me know what time to come.”

He nodded and gave a single tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Will do.”

“I’d better go and clear out the guests. I think the party’s over,” she said, wiping her eyes more determinedly that time. “Morris can sober up in the spare room.” It was a stern, pointed statement, and Morris dragged his feet as he followed her inside. Over her shoulder, she said, “Come in for Daley’s seat; I know you came in Ronnie’s car.”

Then it was just the two of them, alone. Overhead, fireworks began to pop and explode in the dark sky, illuminating their faces in flashes of every colour. At that moment, however, there was nothing to celebrate. A new year was upon them and all they had to show for it were heavy hearts and disappointment. 

The Captain had the good sense to remain quiet and await whatever else Pat had to say. He could barely believe he had planned to tell Pat how he felt that night. The idea of going a fresh year with their feelings out in the open was suddenly laughable. He was sure he’d blown that shot, perhaps blown _ any _ shot he’d had at all. He wondered if Pat would trust him again, wondered if he’d get a second chance.

He could only hope. Desperately so.

“Will you take us home, now?” Pat asked quietly, Daley held protectively close as his whimpers finally settled. His voice was no longer angry or strained, simply sad and tired.

“Of course,” the Captain said, just as quiet. “It’s cold out here. I’ll put the heaters on.”

He led the way, the only thing he knew he could still manage. It was the only familiar thing left amidst the new ground they found themselves on; they had never fought before.

“Thank you,” he heard Pat mumble, and he felt his heart sink impossibly further. “I’ll get the car seat from Carol, I won’t be a minute. You can go and wait for me.”

Pat tried his hardest to fight the tears that built steadily as they weaved through the house, his heart hammering in his ears. Thankfully, everyone had left for their cars out front or their houses nearby - everyone except Alison and Mike, who had stayed to help clear up plates and cups with Carol. They made themselves scarce, disappearing off to the kitchen to clean there instead, and Morris was nowhere to be seen. He was likely passed out upstairs already.

He didn’t meet the Captain’s eyes when the other man glanced back at him once, painfully, before he slipped out of the front door.

Carol brought the car seat for him without complaint and they quietly put him into it together with the ease of two parents who had gotten used to it. For a brief second, Pat could imagine the affair had never happened, that they were raising their son side by side as a couple, but the illusion was shattered when the distant sound of Morris emptying his stomach into the toilet could be heard.

Pat grimaced. “Well, um. I’d best be off. He needs to be put to bed,” he said, then added, “Looks like Daley’s not the only one, either.” He didn’t blame Carol when she didn’t have it in her to laugh. He wasn’t sure he found it funny either, but he’d never been good at awkward situations. She knew that.

“Pat?”

He raised an eyebrow at her apprehensive tone. “What?”

She sighed and smoothed a few flyaway hairs from her face. “Please don’t be too hard on Ronnie. I know it wasn’t his place, technically, but he was looking out for you. It doesn’t make it better but he was angry for what Morris did. I can’t blame him, either. The man clearly cares.”

Pat couldn’t fault him for caring; it was the way he had gone about it, reckless and hasty. It was rare for anyone to stand up for Pat, that was true. He was used to being overlooked and sidelined, and beneath the anger was a flicker of warmth at the Captain being so ready and willing to defend him. But Daley was at the centre of the tension and while Pat was fairly sure Carol would never be difficult, he couldn’t stand the thought of his access being compromised as a result of one cheap shot. The Captain had to understand that he had more at stake, more to lose, and every possible misstep was a constant thought in the back of his head as a new parent. He had to do right by his son.

“I know he does,” Pat said finally, coming back to the present. “And are_ you _angry? He behaved like a right wazz—” He cut himself off with a wary glance at Daley. “He was very out of line. Some might even think he did this on purpose.”

Carol’s lips twitched, and Pat noted just how tired her eyes were. “I’m furious with him,” she insisted, “and I was in the middle of giving him a piece of my mind when Ronnie found us. I’ll talk to him before we come ‘round tomorrow, too. I’m not happy, either, and you and Daley didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this. Neither did Ronnie. It goes for all three of you.”

Pat swallowed. To have her refer to them together made his cheeks ruddy and warm. “Right. Well, thank you.”

She smiled slightly. “I think he’s good for you, you know.” She held her hands up. “It’s not my place anymore, I know, so tell me to keep my nose out. But I’ve seen you around him. I still know you, Pat, and if he supports you and makes you happy then I’d hate to see you lose that. You deserve someone like him. You deserve better after…everything.”

He forced himself to look away. His feelings were as obvious to her as they’d always been. He focused on stroking Daley’s soft knuckles with his thumb. He was ready for this night to be over, and instead his ex-wife was giving him relationship advice. The message rang true, but it didn’t stop the bitter aftertaste it left to come from the woman who had broken their marriage. He’d wanted _ her _ to be the best for him. His head began to throb. 

“I have to go,” he said, lifting Daley in his seat and hooking the handle over his arm. He was grateful for the fact that she knew him enough to probe no further, instead giving his arm a brief, gentle squeeze. He gave her a small smile. “Night.” 

“Drive safe,” she said, and let him head for the door without another word.

  
  
  


The car was turning over gently outside. As promised, it was lovely and warm inside when Pat reached in the back to secure the car seat. He made sure Daley had his blanket tucked around him and then, steeling himself with a deep breath, slid into the passenger seat.

“Everything alright in there?” The Captain asked tentatively. He watched Pat closely.

Pat nodded and stared at his hands in his lap. “Fine, yeah.”

The Captain wished he knew exactly what had been said, but Pat’s short answer and closed-off body told him that was all he was going to get for the journey home. So without another word, he pulled away from Carol’s house.

  
  
  


Things felt a little more stable once Pat put Daley down in his crib. He took the moment of peace and savoured it, watching as his baby slowly closed his eyes and slipped into an easy sleep. It soothed the events of the night, patched him up and readied him to face the inevitable. He couldn’t avoid the Captain forever, nor did he want to, and he bit his lip as he wondered how best to broach everything. More than anything, Pat wanted them to be okay, because as much as Carol’s words may have left him a tad sour, she was right: he was good for Pat, and he didn’t want to lose him.

Beyond the darkened room, he heard the kettle slowly boiling in the kitchen. When it clicked off, Pat heard the sound of the Captain’s hushed voice as he spoke on the phone. Pat strained to listen and he heard Rosie’s name mentioned.

“...no, I haven’t told him. I didn’t get a chance.” Silence as the Captain listened to a reply, and then, “I’ll tell you later… Yes, I hope so. I’m sure he will. Alright. Goodnight, tell the girls too.” 

When Pat was sure the conversation was over, he emerged quietly.

The Captain stood over two mugs in the kitchen, stirring milk into them. He glanced over his shoulder and his face instantly softened.

“I thought you’d want one, after tonight,” he said, by way of easing them into it.

“Yeah,” Pat agreed. He felt awkward still as he leaned against his kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest. He stared down at the linoleum floor, a line between his brows as he worried further at his lip.

He was offered a steaming mug and Pat was grateful to have something to occupy his hands. He blew on it and took a sip.

“Did he go down okay?” The Captain asked softly. 

Pat smiled. “Like always.”

The Captain’s eyes crinkled the way Pat adored, and then his features sobered to something apologetic and sincere. “I’m truly sorry for tonight,” he said, carefully as though he had thought long and hard about the words he chose. Pat wouldn’t know for sure, but the thought combined with the tender, deliberate way in which the Captain regarded him made his heart squeeze. “You were right. The point of the night was lost as soon as Morris made the choice he did, and...I did not help. I behaved rashly and didn’t stop to consider you _ or _Daley.”

“You did,” Pat nodded sagely. “If I’m honest, though, you’re not the one I’m really angry with. I don’t condone what you did, but...I think Morris may have had it planned. For how long, I don’t know, but I think your hunch was right.” He sighed and looked back down again as fresh waves of pain washed over him. “I really thought we were all moving forwards.” 

The Captain scoffed. “I hope Carol is going to put him to rights over this.”

“I told her she deserves better than him.” 

The older man went quiet. “I see,” he said, and then, “Pat, are you— Would you go back to her? If she asked, I mean. Do you...still love her?” 

It was a question that left Pat stunned, winded almost. His eyes widened and then narrowed in quick succession. “What makes you ask that?” 

“She deserves better?” He arched an eyebrow at him.

“She does,” Pat said, “but I don’t mean_ me_. No. I would never go back, that’s not even an option.” He thought for a moment, voice strained. “She’s the mother of my child, she was my _ wife_, and I think a part of me will always feel something. Not love, just...something else.” He shrugged, aware that his throat and eyes stung. “It is what it is, I suppose, and if she doesn’t end up marrying Morris then it will be someone else. But not me.” It was a heavy thing to say out loud and Pat couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had begun to cry. All he knew was the mug of tea being gently extracted from his grip before his trembling hands could spill any. 

Then he was pulled into a pair of sturdy arms, guided until he could fit his face to the crook of the Captain’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against Pat’s hair.

Pat let out an incredulous, watery laugh. “I’m not even upset about it,” he insisted, comforted by the hand that rubbed his back. “I’ve accepted it. Tonight’s just been too much for me, I think. Seeing Morris propose opened a few old wounds.”

“Causing you to cry makes regretting punching him very difficult,” the Captain said stubbornly, producing more laughter from the man in his arms in the form of sweet, somewhat tired giggles. His own deep laughter followed, rumbling against Pat’s chest. It made both of them feel much warmer. The Captain only hugged him tighter, swaying them slightly on the spot. “But I do. I only wish this didn’t cause you pain. I want to help.”

After a few more seconds in the safe embrace, breathing in private lungfuls of sweet-spicy cologne, Pat gently extracted himself just enough to look up at the Captain’s face properly.

“You’ve been helping since we met,” he told him quietly. “I promise.”

The Captain responded in kind and drew his hands up, thumbing away the tear tracks on his cheeks. It was then and only then that Pat noticed the raised knuckles on one hand, swollen and red.

His eyes widened once again. “You know I have ice in the freezer? Or peas. Jesus, Ronnie,” he said, taking the hand between both of his as carefully as he could with a disapproving frown. He examined it, the first-aider in him taking over, and when he was satisfied it was just a bit of minor swelling and a singular cut, he lowered the hand again. “Okay. Sit at the table.” 

He was met with a raised eyebrow, but the Captain complied. 

Pat took a seat before him. He grasped his hand again, this time with a little green box open on the table beside him. The Captain held his breath as Pat began to gingerly clean his knuckles, overwhelmed by the deliberate and careful actions and how the small contact made his heart pound more than their hug had. The intimacy was enticing and suffocating. His head felt light.

“I could do this myself,” the Captain murmured, eyes fixed on Pat.

“I know you could.” He followed up with an antiseptic cream that he rubbed slowly over the cut, and the Captain knew he was avoiding his eyes at that point. “I can help _ you _ for once though, can’t I?” 

The Captain inclined his head to the side. “Who says that you don’t already?”

“Do I?” He asked it without looking up, his hand continuing its small and steady ministrations as though there weren’t a world of pressure on the words they spoke in that moment.

“Yes. Of course you do.”

Pat nodded. “Well, then. That’s good.” 

“Pat.” 

“All done,” Pat cut in quickly.

The Captain caught him before he could flee and clean up, his newly-cleaned hand encircling Pat’s wrist warmly. Vaguely, he could make out a racing pulse. “Just wait a moment,” he pleaded in a low voice, and when he trusted that Pat would not race to his feet, he allowed his hand to trail further down until he could slowly link their fingers.

Pat swallowed and watched as the Captain’s thumb grazed the back of his. His lower lip trembled just barely. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to be with Carol,” he said, his chest heaving in the effort to control his breathing.

“And I mean it when I tell you that you help me as much as I help you,” the Captain countered calmly. “These past months, Pat...they’ve been a privilege. I think it’s fair to say that we’re good together, don’t you?” 

The hope returned, the one Pat had repeatedly refused to entertain until very recently. His eyebrows shot high above the frames of his glasses. His throat grew dry. “I do,” he managed.

The Captain’s smile was so easy, blue eyes impossibly warm. “Tell me then, Patrick. Tell me that there’s someone else you’d rather be with. Tell me that my second hunch of the night is just as correct, or I think I might actually die.”

With a few more words, Pat could change everything, and the world-shattering knowledge was enough to bathe his neck and face in a raging heat. All his nights of longing and his days of harbouring a secret love could spill to the surface. They could be free. The Captain held his hand and asked him to say it, outright, and Pat could scarcely believe it was finally happening - in his tiny kitchen on the first day of a new year, of all places.

There was only one choice, in the end. There was always going to be. He gave a small, quick nod, placing his trust in the fingers still interwoven with his own. He gave them a squeeze, and the Captain squeezed back.

Then he found his voice.

“It’s you.”


	9. These Arms Are All I Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story until this point, and thank you for every kind comment and message - I see them all, and knowing how much this fic means to some of you makes my heart warm. This one's for you, enjoy these two as they finally get some emotional payoff. I hope you like it.

When the Captain did nothing other than gaze at him, lips parted slightly, Pat panicked. “That_ is_ what you meant, isn’t it?” He asked, voice raised an octave as he ran the older man’s words back through his head to work out where he could have misunderstood. His throat felt as though it had seized up entirely.

The Captain laughed, soft and deep. “Yes,” he reassured, his crow’s feet more pronounced as his smile grew. “Sorry. I wasn’t actually a hundred percent sure I was right. Little leap of faith, there.”

Flooded with relief, Pat could have fallen off his chair from it. He sagged instead, scrubbing his free hand over his moustache. “Thank God,” he said before his own laughter followed in spite of himself, a giddy release to chase away the fear.

The Captain’s eyes sparkled with mirth as he raised Pat’s hand to his lips, letting them softly graze the freckle-covered skin there. As simple as it was, it stopped Pat’s laughter short, breath hitching as he watched in enamoured awe.

“Um, isn’t this the part where you say it back?” Pat asked, wide-eyed.

“I was getting to that,” he said, though there was no real irritation there. “I feel the same, of course I do.” He spoke slowly as if the words were difficult to get out. Pat listened patiently as his hand was lowered again. “I don’t… I haven’t done much of this, Pat.” His expression pinched in thought. “What I mean is that there are parts of my past that make this hard for me, and you know I didn’t come out until later in life. I haven’t been married, and I’m not a parent. In a lot of ways, we’re very different.” 

Pat nodded. He stroked the Captain’s hand with his thumb encouragingly. “We are,” he agreed softly. “Go on?”

He cleared his throat. “Right, well. For months I’ve been telling myself that those differences...they mean I can’t be with you, that I can’t possibly be what you need. But you have defied those doubts every single time. It’s you who told me that there’s no one set— What was it?” 

“File-path,” Pat supplied, the corner of his moustache twitching up.

“File-path, yes. That. Good. And you’re right by all accounts, I think. I may not have the same milestones under my belt, but I see no good reason why we can’t get over any potential obstacles between us. Together.”

Pat’s heart skipped and his vision swam for a brief second as he took it in. He couldn’t believe what he heard after so long of second-guessing what their relationship meant to the other man. To know the Captain had been filled with the very same doubts made him want to cry, but the admission of wanting to give it a go all the same made him also want to jump for joy. He wanted to lean over the table and kiss him with all he had, too, if he was honest with himself.

A fresh smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, we definitely can,” Pat said proudly. “You gave me that pocket knife, remember? For _ any _ tricky situation.”

They dissolved into a quiet, intimate laughter, but were perfectly interrupted with a long, loud wail from Daley’s room. When the cries continued without pause, Pat gave the Captain an apologetic look.

The Captain smiled in understanding before he gently released his hand.

In his small bedroom, Pat lifted Daley with ease to rest against his shoulder, whispering words of comfort as he rubbed small circles into his back.

“What’s all the fuss for, hey? I’m here, sweetheart,” he soothed.

The Captain, who had followed behind him quietly, leant in the doorway with his arms folded casually as he watched him. His expression was open and fond, saturated with affection, and Pat wished he could see that look on his face every day for the rest of his life. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but he was hard pressed to find it in him to care.

“This is what you’re signing up for, you know,” Pat said, rocking his son slowly in his embrace. “You can’t have me without him, too. And babies cry a _ lot_.”

“I know,” the Captain answered him calmly, unfolding his arms as he stepped into the room.

“Sorry,” Pat amended quickly, panic rising up. “I didn’t mean you’re going to instantly take him on like your own. I don’t expect you to become a parent, don’t worry.”

A warm hand settled on the small of Pat’s back as the Captain stopped in front of them both. “Settle down, Patrick. I didn’t say what I said lightly. I know he’s your number one priority, and I’d expect nothing less.” He turned his smile to the baby at his shoulder and gently grasped one of Daley’s small hands. “I may not be a parent, but I’ve seen Rosie go through all of this more than once - the dating, the break-ups, the heartache. It’s not easy, especially with children involved. It can get...rather messy.”

Pat swallowed. “I can imagine,” he said quietly. He did wonder just what Rosie’s situation was, and he supposed that was a tad more clarity. 

“Alright?” The Captain asked.

They were so close and the Captain’s touch calmed his nerves effortlessly. “I never thought I’d be starting again. It’s a bit daunting, if I’m honest.” Pat met his eyes in the dim room.

The Captain raised an eyebrow. “So is starting at forty,” he said sympathetically. “We’ve no need to rush, have we?”

“No, ‘course not,” Pat agreed, and he felt the worry in his chest settle with every stroke of the Captain’s thumb on his back. “We can start small, see how we feel,” he added, more sure of himself.

“Perhaps a date?” The Captain’s voice was hopeful and, Pat noted with a fond feeling, rather nervous.

Pat couldn’t help the large smile that engulfed his face. “As long as it doesn’t involve an assault course, I think we can manage a date.”

  
  
  


Once Daley was back in his crib, sound asleep, they settled on Pat’s sofa, half-full mugs of tea forgotten and cold in the kitchen. It was past one in the morning by then. Though the fireworks had stopped, they could hear the distant sounds of drunken people merrily stumbling their way home through the otherwise quiet countryside. It was cosy inside Pat’s small flat, however, the living room lit only with a single lamp in the corner.

“I suppose this means my moving in is off the cards, now,” the Captain said.

Pat winced. He knew it couldn’t be ignored, but it didn’t make saying it any easier. “I suppose we might have jumped the gun a bit. I don’t think it’d be very conventional, would it?” He chewed his lip. “I know you want your own space, and if you _ really _ wanted to then we _ could _ say ‘to hell with it’, but—” 

“Pat,” the Captain said, not too harsh but firm enough to shut him up. “It’s quite alright, I promise. If swallowing my pride and staying with Rosie for a while longer means I get to be with you without complication, then there’s no question.”

It might have been true, but Pat still felt awfully guilty. “I’m sorry. I feel like a right wazzock.”

“Oh, don’t,” the Captain said, rolling his eyes. “We both made the decision knowing how we felt about one another. That makes us_ both_—no. I refuse to say that word. It’s ridiculous.”

Pat laughed and raised his eyebrows, mock-offended. “Oh, is it? Sorry it’s not the Queen’s English, Mr. Boarding School.” 

“Some would argue it barely qualifies as English at all, Patrick,” he said teasingly, and at some point they had shifted closer because suddenly he could curl his hands around Pat’s hips without even stretching. His fingers rested comfortably where Pat’s smart black shirt was still tucked into his jeans and warmth radiated from him in a way that reignited the longing in his chest. “Do I have to give you vocabulary lessons? It’s never too late to learn.”

Pat’s laughter shook his shoulders and he mirrored the touch, his own fingers finding a new home at the Captain’s waist. They faced each other, the space between them diminished, and the undeniable implications (along with the shameless flirting) made a thrill shoot up his spine. Pat relished it, soaking up the feeling of wanting and being wanted in return without guilt or shame - open and unapologetic. “Have I ever said that you’re a pompous smart-arse?”

”You wouldn’t be the first,” the Captain said, drawing him closer still. “But you’re still a geek, too, I’m afraid.” His tone was grave but he smiled and lifted a hand, brushing Pat’s wavy hair to the side - it had fallen out of place from where he’d combed it that evening. “What a pair we make,” he murmured, and the same hand cupped his cheek as though he’d done it a thousand times. “Now, may I _ please _ kiss you? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

Pat’s eyes flicked south, russet lashes fluttering slightly as his gaze fell upon the mouth that had told him he looked extraordinary only that evening; the mouth that had spoken to his son so sweetly; the mouth that had encouraged and supported him all the months they had known each other. One small decision could represent something much bigger: he was ready to move on.

Wordlessly, he closed the remaining distance.

The Captain exhaled softly through his nose, eyebrows bouncing up in surprise, before he returned the pressure with a tilt of his head. He cradled Pat’s jaw in his left hand, tugged him closer with the right, and kissed with such deliberate tenderness that it made Pat’s knees weaken despite him being sat.

In the precious seconds the kiss lasted, all Pat could do was feel. He felt what it was to be desired by someone new, to be held like something actually worth holding onto, to belong in an embrace after wondering whether he ever would again. His lips began to tremble against the older man’s until he had to pull back to breathe; it was suddenly all so much. His fingers would have trembled too if he hadn't had an anchor, someone sturdy and dependable and _ there_.

“Pat?” The Captain’s brows pulled together, concerned. He tried to put a little space back but when he made to pull his hand away, Pat covered it with his own and held it there. Shorter, stubbier fingers lay on top of his, over the bruises of his knuckles, keeping him in place. Underneath their hands, both could feel the way Pat’s cheek burned hot.

“Stay,” Pat managed to say in a mere breathless croak. “Tonight. With me.”

The Captain’s lips turned up in a private, cheeky smile. “Wouldn’t that be terribly _ unconventional _ of us?” He echoed Pat from earlier, pretending to be scandalised. “Heavens, Patrick, whatever next?”

“Shut _ up_,” Pat answered with a watery laugh, blue eyes bright and glistening. “Bugger conventions,” he continued with a sniff. “Will you stay? I don’t want to be on my own. Not now, not after tonight. And it’s late, so...you know.”

“Well,” the Captain tutted. “I suppose that leaves me no choice.” Pat kept watching him, unsure, and so he softened his voice. “Of course I will,” he said.

Pat sniffed again and wiped at his eyes, suddenly feeling a little silly. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “There’s, um. There’s a spare toothbrush, I think, in the bathroom, and I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear for bed—”

The Captain braced a hand on Pat’s chest lightly. Under his hand, the younger man’s heart raced. “Pat, please. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Pat exhaled. “Bit nervous.”

“Understandable, but there’s really no need. It’s just me. If my staying here is going to give you a blasted heart attack, perhaps it’s best I go home.” The Captain half-expected Pat to become meek and embarrassed, to shrink against the sofa cushions with his face and neck flushed.

But he defied him yet again.

Pat kissed him for a second time, firm and insistent, and the Captain wound his arms tightly around his frame in reply without a single moment’s hesitation. Pat’s hand grasped the back of his angled neck, over close-cropped hair that was almost in need of a fresh buzz. It was coarse but soft under his fingers as he sank them there as easily as he sank their lips together.

The Captain tasted of chocolate, so rich and sweet he could make Pat’s teeth hurt. It was impossible not to chase it, parting his lips to dive a little deeper. He could only delight when he was welcomed keenly until they shared breath, warm and heady, and his socked toes curled where they were tucked under his leg. Intensity flickered where it hadn’t before, heat creeping in at the edges, evidence of how long they’d been without such intimacy. Pat knew that if they didn’t stop, the evidence would only get much more embarrassing.

He released his mouth with a soft sound, chest heaving, and smiled dazedly when the Captain only pressed their foreheads together instead.

“I asked you to stay,” Pat said, slightly out of breath. “I’ve been keeping all this to myself for months and until now, I didn’t know if you really felt the same. Had my suspicions, like, but I didn’t want to flatter myself too much.”

“Fair point,” the Captain conceded, but then the whole of Pat’s statement dawned on him and he frowned and pulled back. “Hang on, why on _ earth _would that be flattering yourself?”

Pat stared at him and waited for the penny to drop. When it didn’t, he looked down sheepishly. “It’s daft, I know, but being divorced doesn’t exactly do wonders for your self-esteem. I suppose I just felt like…I was punching a bit above my weight. Every time I thought you might, I dunno, fancy me,” he blushed and tried not to squirm, acutely aware of the Captain’s arms still loosely holding him by the waist, “I’d always tell myself I was wrong.”

“This may come as a surprise, Pat, but I’m hardly overflowing with confidence in this area myself,” the Captain said, almost amused. “I told you as much, about all the times I convinced myself we were too different. I couldn’t imagine being what you needed or what you wanted, and yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Pat echoed with a tiny smile.

“For the record, though - and forgive me if this is terribly forward - you are also _ incredibly _ attractive,” the Captain said, and he chuckled when Pat promptly turned beet red. “Well, I could hardly have you doubting if I ‘fancy’ you, as you so eloquently put it.”

Though they had only kissed twice and the Captain’s touch remained safe and respectful, Pat felt his heart jump along with his confidence at the words. He felt desirable, all of a sudden, emboldened and strengthened by the Captain’s unabashed and proud attraction. It was a feeling he’d longed for, one that he’d missed, and all the lonely parts of him stirred, moved. He’d forgotten just how powerful and _ good _a partner could make him feel.

Pat’s shoulders shook again, face bright. “Thanks,” he said, and punctuated it with a brief, soft kiss to the corner of the Captain’s mouth. His face was so warm, he almost wondered if the other man could feel it when they got close. “Now, if you’re done flirting with me, can we go to bed?”

The Captain raised a solemn brow. “We can, but I’m afraid I shan’t ever be done. This is what_ you _ have signed up for, Patrick.”

Pat gave him a playful shove and fought to keep his laughter to a minimum volume, aware of his son sleeping just a room away. “Give over,” he whispered.

“Never,” the Captain whispered back.

  
  
  


They had shared a bed before, but to do so fully aware of one another’s feelings gave the ocassion a whole new weight.

Pat watched the Captain emerge from the small bathroom.

“I fear my ankles may be chilly tonight,” he announced as he rounded the bed. The borrowed flannel pyjama bottoms he wore were a tad too short, and even someone of the Captain’s dignified status could not make them look any less comical than they were.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Pat said with a quiet giggle.

“Less of that, thank you,” the Captain chided grumpily. He drew back his side of the covers and slipped into the bed. “I can still change my mind, you know.”

Pat rolled to face him. “And I can just convince you to stay again.” He referred to their kiss without so much as a blush. It was progress, he thought. 

The Captain mirrored him, pillow tucked beneath his head. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, tired eyes still alive with mischief.

Ah, and _ there _was the blush. Pat stared at him.

“I’m just joking,” the Captain reassured. He joined their fingers together where Pat’s hand rested between them on the bed. “You should get some sleep before you have to face the inevitable later,” he said softly.

The reminder made’s heart sink. He still had to talk to Carol and Morris about what had happened and not a cell in his body looked forward to it. Apparently as much was evident on his face because the Captain shuffled closer and drew him near. Pat allowed himself to be moulded to his body, his head tucked under the older man’s chin. 

He sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” he murmured, his voice somewhat muffled against the soft cotton of the Captain's t-shirt. “What _do_ you say? Part of me is still hoping he didn’t have it planned, but that’s the naive me who didn’t think they were cheating either. It's a bloody mess, Ron.”

The Captain hummed. “It is,” he said, the edges of it cushioned with sympathy. “I’m sorry if I might have made things worse.”

Pat closed his eyes at that. He focused on the heart that beat steadily under his ear, the fingers that carded through the back of his hair, the faded smell of spicy cologne on skin.

After a deep breath, he said, “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it and then we can just...move on.” It was optimistic, he knew, but some things would never change.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He said nothing further and the Captain took that as a hint. He brushed his lips over Pat’s crown and didn’t press the issue further. Pat could have a few hours of uninterrupted peace before it was ultimately disturbed again, and the Captain was more than content to hold him through it now that he was allowed.

It was the least he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> 'The World In Colour' Spotify playlist: [listen here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1mEangeEvZPuIXkTz2Gc3E?si=HypSBkgUQDW8Jw7M3tiR1w)


End file.
